The Royal
by swsbvbpatd
Summary: Noah might not believe in love, but that doesn't mean she believes in the selection. When her name is pulled from the draw, she's far from happy about it, and when she meets Roman, he doesn't exactly change her mind... But Roman is the kind of boy who's used to getting things he wants, and he wants her... but Noah might be more trouble than she's worth.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER** **_ONE_**

My mother might have named me Noah, but she called me _her little miracle_ more often than she did that.

She used to tell me that I'd earned the nickname, through the fighting I'd done to survive as a baby. The doctor had told her it wasn't likely she'd ever be able to carry me to full term without killing us both, but then she did. I was severely undersized and undernourished, but somehow that didn't matter. Somehow, I lived.

However miraculous that fact was, it left my mother and I with a serious dent in our income. Her labor left her unable to have kids after me, and though the doctor might have been wrong about me, my mom didn't want to risk him being right about this. Another pregnancy would have killed her, and she didn't want to leave a little girl behind.

Sixes depended on family to survive—sure, it meant more mouths to feed, but it meant more workers, too. I had yet to meet another family of Sixes with less than three children, and most had even more than that. We'd lost my dad only two years after I was born, and our family of three was reduced to two.

I'd started working the day I turned sixteen, but even after that, my mom and I practically lived off of scrapes. Before that, it'd been hard. Harder than hard.

The job that I'd gotten was far from ideal, but jobs themselves were hard to come by these days, especially for sixes. In the beginning, I'd felt like a rat, reduced to mopping the floors and cleaning the rooms of people who thought they were superior to me, but I'd gotten used to it pretty quick.

Now, I worked for a family of Three's that lived at the other end of town, alongside a woman who was twice my age; Miss Marion. Despite our behind hired as equals, she'd developed a habit of bossing me around as if I was her own servant close to the beginning of my employment. In reality, my only bosses were the Kings, and Miss Marion had no hold over me, but that didn't mean I wasn't afraid of her, in a way. The Kings might have looked at me in a way that made me hate them, as though I was the same as the dirt I scrubbed off their floors, but Miss Marion had an attitude that made me hate her so much more.

My mother had the same kind of job that I did, but she worked for a family of a caste higher. Usually those who were more experienced in a job worked for higher castes, as those families tended to be a lot more particular about the work that got done, but I'd been an exception. My mother had had my job before me, and she'd begged the family to let me take her place when she was offered a new one. It was unusual for someone who was just barely seventeen to be serving Three's.

"Do you like it?" My mom said, coming up behind me in my room. I jumped, not having expected to hear her voice.

My eyes darted down to the dress and shoes that'd been laid out on my bed, and I could feel my mother's eyes on me while I did. I sighed, imagining how many paychecks she must have halved to pay for the new clothes, which I didn't deem necessary. I felt guilt prick at me—I really was spoilt, and it was a curse as much as it was a blessing.

I had never been the type of person to like dress up games, but whether that was because I didn't enjoy it, or we'd never been able to pay for fancy things to dress-up in, I didn't know.

I ran my fingers along the light fabric of the clothing, feeling it's softness against my finger tips. It was nice, for something a Six could own. It was nothing in comparison to the dresses I'd picked up off of Sharron King's floors, but compared to the ripped hand-me-down shirt and trousers that I wore on my back, it was beautiful, and obviously not out of a second-hand shop. In my mind, I imagined my mother looking through price tags in the mall, being watched by store clerks who probably thought her a thief. My guilt only grew.

The dress wasn't much on it's own—it was mostly amber colored, aside from the black lace that lined the hemmed edges of it. I figured it would hang somewhere around my knee's, if an inch or two above them.

I didn't have to ask my mother what the occasion was, because I knew. Sometimes I might have sworn that my parents had planned me according to the announcement of the birth of Prince Roman, if only so that I would have the misfortune of a chance of participating in the Selection. This year, the Crowned Prince had turned nineteen years old, and the games would begin. Every woman between the ages of 16 and 20 were eligible to apply to be one of the 35 girls that would participate in the selection, hoping to become his bride in the end.

The idea of the Selection disgusted me. I was not the kind of girl to believe in love, in all of it's romantic and overrated glory, but that didn't mean I thought the Selection was right. The fact that the Prince's wife was a position to be _applied_ for was probably what hit me the most—they treated it like a prize. As if he was the thing the girls of this country should want the most in the world.

My mother wanted a good life for me, and every time I saw the way she looked at me, I knew she wanted nothing more than for me to be as happy and as privileged as the Queen she saw on T.V. every other day. My mother had applied to be a part of the King's Selection when she was my age, but she hadn't been chosen, Queen Rhea had. My mother had gone to school with her when they were only children. Back when both of them had been fours.

But then Rhea married into the crown and became a One, and my mother married my father and became a Six.

Just two days ago, we'd gotten a letter from the Royal Family themselves, as had every other girl in the nation in the acceptable age range. My mother had not-so-subtly left it on the kitchen table, propped up by a banana that was bordering on brown. I knew she wanted me to apply and at least get my name in the lottery, but I didn't believe in that. I was sure my reaction upon seeing the letter had not been what she expected.

Where every other girl in Illéa must have been jumping for joy, I was sighing with malcontent.

I didn't think I could be selected, not in a million years, but something about the possibility still terrified me. I didn't want to get caught up in a world of fancy dresses and royalty, and a boy who was probably so pampered he didn't know how to tie his own shoes.

"Noah?" My mom said when I still hadn't responded. I spun around to face her, forcing a smile, despite the nerves that had settled into my stomach. I had the Selection on my brain now, and that made it hard to act happy.

Compared to me, my mother was short and plump, but she was gorgeous. Those were my first clues that I'd gotten my appearance from my father. Photo's could only tell me so much, but they told me that my tall figure and dark brown hair had come from him for sure. The only physical things that I got from my mother were my green eyes, and a set of boobs smaller than a prepubescent boy.

She smiled, "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, mom, I love it. Thank you." I said, nodding.

"Anything for you," She said, her smile only brightening. "I thought maybe you could wear it to the Provincial Services Office? Maybe today?"

I sighed, biting my teeth down on my bottom lip. I turned back to the dress, only now seeing the letter that had been placed on my bed just above it. It was open, now, and the application was a single paper placed over top of the envelope. I hadn't filled it out—a small part of me was hoping she would forget I'd ever agreed to—but I knew that I had to. I nodded, "Yeah, I'll fill out the form this morning and we can go in the afternoon."

"Oh, good," she said, letting out a sigh of relief. She grinned, "I'm so excited for you, just because your such a beautiful girl and—"

" _Mom_ ," I said, rolling my eyes. I couldn't hold back the smile that came at her words, or stop the red tinge from coming onto my cheeks.

She wrapped her arm around my waist and pulled me into half of a hug, "and you're sure to be picked."

"It's a lottery, mom," I said, picking the dress up and holding it out in front of me, "I have as much of a shot as everyone else who's entering."

She didn't say anything to that, but her smile never faltered. Her arm dropped from my waist and she turned to leave me to change, closing the door to my room behind her.

I dropped the dress back onto the bed and closed the distance between me and my dresser in only two short steps. I pulled a pen from the container that sat on top of it before moving to grab the papers and envelope from my bed. My thumb ran over the wax seal that had enclosed it, careful not to crack it in anyway. It seemed to fancy and expensive to break.

I'd only skimmed over the papers before, not having cared enough to waste time reading it. Right then, I took the time to read over every word.

 _The recent census has confirmed that a single woman between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently resides in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honor the great nation of Illéa. Our beloved Prince, Roman Séear, is coming of age this month. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forwards with a partner, to marry a true Daughter of Illéa. If your eligible daughter, sister, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the bride of Prince Roman and the adored Princess of Illéa, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Provincial Services Office. One woman from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince._

My fingers ran over the script like feathers, feeling the texture of the ink that was thick enough to be felt. My eyes had never seen something so pretty, and likely expensive. I flipped it over to get a look at the application on the back, setting the page on the top of my dresser so that I could write on it.

The questions were easy, but I didn't understand why they needed to know things as specific as my weight and hair color if it was supposed to be a draw. Still, I wrote my responses honestly onto it. Suddenly I felt a prickle of nerves in my stomach as I thought that they might not be completely random with the lottery. If they were narrowing the applicants down according to the answers they wrote down here, I wondered if mine would be trashed for something as simple as my eye color or height? Or even Caste?

I listed my abilities with pride, mentioning the fact that I could speak three languages, even if my Russian was rusty at best. Still, I could hold up conversations with my mother long enough whenever she edged me on to practise. Sixes weren't given much education, and so my mother had taken it upon herself to teach me languages and maths. Science had been something I'd learnt on my own. I might have been a six, but my aspirations lied in the world of the three's. I'd wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid, and it seemed that dream had yet to fade.

I snorted when I leaned out my door to talk to my mother, who sat on the couch just outside my room, "Hey, should I list my talents as a maid under the 'abilities' section?"

She chuckled, "Definitely not. Royals tell other people what _to_ clean, they don't clean things themselves."

"Right, okay," I said, nodding. "So I'm guessing saying I'm bossy is an okay choice, then?"

"If I find out you put anything other than beautiful and smart, I'll disown you." She said, and I laughed.

I finished off the last of the form and folded it back up into the way it'd been before. I quickly changed out of my jeans and the partially wet shirt that I'd worn to work that day, slipping the dress on after. I turned around to look at the finished look in the mirror, slipping the black shoes my mother had gotten onto my feet while I did.

More than satisfied with what I saw, I took the form in my hand and left my room, standing just outside my doorway, waiting for my mom to look up at me. When she did, she smiled, her lips pursing in a way that suggested she was trying, and failing, to hold it back.

"Oh, Noah," She said, shaking her head, "You look beautiful."

"Mom," I said, watching her stand and walk over, reaching up into my hair to take the pin out of it. The strands of brown fell to my shoulders and I frowned, "I don't like my hair down."

"Oh hush," she said, winking. "They take a photo when you get there."

"Oh, great," I said, frowning. She took the form from my hands and slipped it into her purse.

Not a minute later, we were standing outside of our apartment, me waiting for her to lock the door behind us. We lived in a small apartment complex, with only two floors to the whole thing, and six tenants. Most of the people who lived there were Sixes, aside from the family of sevens that lived on the bottom floor.

When she put the keys back into her bag, I slipped my arm through her own and we made out way down the staircase, barely able to fit between the walls while walking side by side. When we got to the front door, we both paused, looking out at the weather that lied just on the other side of the glass.

The aftereffects of the rain that had been coming down all night were present in puddles and wet pavement, and trickling's of water that fell from the roof. It wasn't raining anymore, but the clouds that occupied the sky told me that it was likely to happen again.

"Oh, it's a horrible day to be doing such a good thing," my mom said, frowning. My mother was beaming, even as we left the building and dodged puddles on our way to the Provincial Services Office.

Just a few paces ahead of us, another mother daughter pair were walking, and I would have bet money they had the same destination. The letters had come only yesterday, and I was sure that whatever girls hadn't made it to the office before it closed then were on their way there today.

"Wow," my mom said when we came up the the office and saw the line that stood outside it. The Provincial Services Office itself wasn't a big place, but seeing a line standing outside it doors still made me frown. There had to be tens of girls lined up there, waiting to drop of their applications and get their photo snapped in front of a screen.

"This might take a while," I said, whistling.

"I'll say," my mom laughed, just as the group of us took one long stride forwards as one girl stepped into the building. She sighed, "Oh, I remember when King Leon's selection happened, way back when."

"Do you?" I said, smiling. "Was it hectic like this?"

"Oh, yes," She said, pausing, "and if it hadn't been a draw, I would have won the whole darned thing. You could have been a princess, Noah, can you imagine?"

I smiled, looking over at her, "Well, technically, I still could."

She smiled at that, "Very true. Have you seen that boy on T.V.? He's very handsome. A little young for me, maybe, but I think you'd look good together."

I rolled my eyes. Prince Roman and his family were regular T.V. personalities, it'd be next to impossible to have not seen him. He'd grown up on camera, with a nation of people watching his every move, and every time I'd seen him on our pixilated screen at home, he'd oozed charm and confidence. I admired the Prince and the life he lived, though I would never see myself liking him.

I could never see myself _marrying_ him.

In only ten minutes, if that, we were at the front of the line, inside the doors of the office. I handed my form over to a woman who waited just inside, watching as she set it in box of forms just like it. She pointed towards a stool that was set up just in front of a camera, and I slid onto the wooden seat, setting my hands on my lap.

My mom reached forwards and fixed a lock of my hair, but I frowned and pushed her hands away, "Mom."

"Sorry, sorry," She said, stepping back with her hands up in a show of surrender.

The woman who manned the camera gave me a thumb's up, and I nodded. My mom stood just behind her, making a face that was surely just there to make me laugh, and it worked. When the camera clicked, I was sure my mouth had been hanging open and the photo would be absurd, but I wasn't given the option to look it over.

We were out of there as fast as we were in, and I found myself feeling anxious on the way home. I'd been worried before we'd gone in, but now that my entry was in and there was, in fact, a possibility that I could be chosen, I felt sick.


	2. Chapter 2

I heard the bucket tip before I saw it's aftermath, and if anything, it only made me more angry. Slowly, I turned around the face the youngest of the King family, who looked smug and content standing on the other end of the spilled cleaning water.

I looked down at the knee's of my pants, now soaked with soap and cold water. With a sigh, I stood, leaving the cloth I'd been using to clean the legs of the furniture in the entry room on the floor beside my feet. For a minute, all I could do was stare at the nine year old boy and try to figure out why he felt the need to do the things he did, but when nothing came to mind, I moved into action.

Without a word to the boy, I walked over and picked the newly emptied bucket up from beside him on the floor, my shoes splashing in the puddle that'd been created. I made my way to the closet that held all of the cleaning supplied as dropped the bucket on the floor, snatching the mop off of the hook on the wall.

Dylan was still standing in the same place I'd left him when I came back to the entrance, only then, his mother was standing behind him. I swallowed, suddenly feeling guilty for the mess that hadn't even been my own.

Mrs. King looked up at me when she saw that I'd come into the room, and her eyes darted from the puddle of soapy water to me in the course of a single second. For a minute, I had no idea what would happen—Mrs. King was always kind of a wild card in the sense of you never knew what reaction to expect.

She was a bombshell in the looks department, and so it was easy to see why her husband had plucked her from her family of Fives and brought her into the live of Three's. I figured the simple fact that she knew what it was like to be of the lower castes made her slightly more forgiving towards me, yet still, I couldn't stop my heart from racing while I waited for her to speak.

"Well, I suppose if you're cleaning it up then there's no harm done," She said, sighing.

I nodded, moving quickly to mop up the water. Dylan watched me from his spot next to his mother, but I didn't so much as turn to look at the boy. He was always testing my patience in a way that only a spoilt brat could, and I knew that one day he'd push me too far, and I'd get myself fired for scolding the boy. Until that day, I made myself bit my lip to hold back harsh words, and I cleaned up after the boy like the maid I was.

When the mess was gone, I went back to the closet and hung the mop back on the nail that was twisted into the wall, grabbing for the bucket again. I squeezed a good amount of soap from the bottle before closing the door to the closet and lifting the blue bin into my arms. When I went to the kitchen to fill it with water, I found Miss Marion cleaning the stove, and I slowed my brisk pace to a walk. I put the bucket in the sink and turned on the tap, drumming my fingers on the plastic edges of it while I waited for it to get at least a quarter full.

Miss Marion cleared her throat from behind me, "oh, really, child, is it too hard to keep your clothing dry while you're on the job? That's not very presentable, you know."

"It was an accident," I said, not offering her any more information than that. I peered down into the bucket, waiting, losing more of my sanity with every added word that came out of the old woman's mouth,

"I'm sure." She said, "I think you ought to do that bathrooms on the second floor when your done with the entryway."

I blinked, moving my eyes from the bottom of the bucket to the window above the sink. Outside, the King's front lawn was being tended to my a man with a lawn mower, and for a few seconds, I did nothing but watch him zig zag across the grass.

"Hello? Am I talking to myself," Miss Marion said, making me turn around and shoot her a look. She gaped, "That's not the kind of look a young girl should be giving her—"

"Her what?" I said, rolling my eyes, " _elders?_ "

I shut off the tap and pulled the bucket out of the sink, leaving Miss Marion standing next to the oven with a look on her face that I wasn't able to place. She'd always been touchy about her age, and I would have bet money that she'd been planning on using the word I _superior_ or one of it's synonyms before I'd budded in. While I marched back to the entryway, though, I didn't care.

Dylan and his mother were gone then, something I was grateful for. I knew that, if my job hadn't been necessary for my mom and I, I'd have quit ages back. But unfortunately for myself, it was more than necessary, and I had no option of quitting for pleasure.

I dropped back to my hands and knee's, feeling the cold wet fabric of my pants on my shins, and I picked the cloth up off of the ground. After dipping it into the refreshed warm water, I returned to the task I'd been working on earlier, which was wiping down the legs to the tabled that lined the walls in the front room.

Sometime between when I'd moved on from the left side of the room tables to the right side ones, Sharron King had come down the staircase and stood on the bottom landing. I could feel her eyes on my back while I scrubbed at the muddy bottom of the last of the decorative pieces of furniture.

"I think there's a speck of mud on my shoes," She said from behind me, and I slowly turned around to look at her. From my place on the floor, I had to twist my neck in a way that had my looking straight up at her. Her blond hair was styled in a way that told me she was not planning on staying in today, and I wondered if maybe her and her friends were planning on watching _The Capital Report_ together whenever it aired.

I had no doubt in my mind that Sharron and all of her friends had filled out their applications for the Selection last week, and they'd probably all sealed them with a lipstick-smeared kiss, as well. It'd been almost a full seven days since the deadline for the applications had passed, and tonight was when 35 girls from each province of Illéa were to be announced on the T.V. It didn't air until 8, and I was sure my mom would have made popcorn or something like that for the occasion.

"Mind giving it a little scrub for me?" Sharron said, smiling down at me in a way that would have appeared sweet if I didn't know it was fake. I bit my lip, treading through the territory carefully. I swallowed whatever pride I could have had in that moment and dipped my cloth into the bucket beside me, wringing it our before I put it to Sharron's left heel and wiped the small smudges of dirt from it's plastic. When she pulled her foot away, she looked down her nose at it to check my job. "Awe, you're a doll."

I didn't say anything to her—there was nothing that I could. In the back of my mind, I was screaming at her, saying a hundred things at once, in which 80 of them contained curses. I quickly turned away from her when tears of frustration rimmed my eyes, and I brought the cloth in my hands back to the legs of the table in front of me.

Sharron wasn't gone just yet though. Instead, she settled into a seat on the second to lowest stair beside the table I was cleaning, resting her head in her hand while she watched me. "I want you to clean my room after this. I'm going out, so I won't be there for you to get in my way."

I gave her a nod so that she'd know I heard her, but I didn't say anything. Half of me was grateful to have an excuse not to clean the bathrooms on the second floor, but the other half of me wanted to trash her room more than I wanted to clean it.

"And don't even think of pocketing anything," she said, her voice suddenly turning stern.

I frozen, the cloth in my hands stopped moving against he wood of the table, and I craned my neck to look at the girl. I'd never once taken anything from her room, or any other room in the house. The accusation in her tone caught me by surprise in a way that left me gaping at her in both horror and confusion.

Sharron gave me a smug look, "If my pearl bracelet just _happens_ to turn up, now, leave it in my jewelry box where it belongs."

She stood then, walking back towards the front door. I watched her until she was gone, completely out of view, but my shock never faded. Miss Marion walked in just then, and she looked from me to the door that I was staring at. I jumped to my feet before she could say anything to me, moving towards the bathroom to dump what was left of the water in the bucket.

I spent the remainder of my shift cleaning Sharron King's room spotless, right down to he headboard on her bed. When I was shrugging my jacket over my shoulders, getting ready to walk back to the bus stop and head home, I got a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. With a frown, I set out to find Miss Marion before going to the bus.

She was putting away the last of the cleaning supplies in the closet when I found her. At first, she had no idea that I'd walked up, and I stood just behind her waiting for her to look up. I'd almost lost my nerve in those few seconds, and just when my feet were beginning to itch to move, she turned and looked over at me.

"What?" She snapped.

I swallowed, "Just wondering if you've seen a pearl bracelet at all while you were cleaning."

I watched her face carefully, and though I'd never call myself an excellent reader when it came to expressions, the look she got then was easy to decipher. It was guilt.

Miss Marion stretched her neck so she held her head high, "Afraid not. Why? I doubt you could afford such a piece of jewelry."

"No reason," I said, dropping my eyes to the floor. With nothing else to say to her, I twisted on my heels and started back towards the front door, leaving Miss Marion standing outside the cleaning closet.

When I got home that evening, it was already almost seven thirty, and my mom had dinner ready and out on the table for us. I walked in the door and hung my jacket on the rack just inside before slipping my shoes off and heading into the kitchen to join her.

"Looks great, mom," I said, sliding into the seat across from her and admiring the chicken salad she made. There was already a serving of it on my plate for me, and I dug right into it within seconds of sitting down.

"How was work?" She asked, sipping at the glass of water she had in front of her.

I shrugged, "I think Miss Marion is stealing from the Kings."

My mother frowned, blinking at me. She was quiet at first, and I could see the gears in her head turning while she processed this. My mother had had my job before me, and that had meant that she had worked with Miss Marion back when both of them were in their early thirties. Still, my mom didn't look surprised to hear the information so much as disappointed. "Well, that's unfortunate. Did you tell Mrs. King? Or Mr. King, I suppose?"

"No," I said, frowning, "I guess I have to, though, don't I?"

My mother nodded swiftly, "Yes, I think you do."

We both finished off our plates fairly quickly after that, and I carried our dishes back to the sink. The clock told me it was bordering on seven forty-five, and just when I was looking away from it, my mom shrieked, "You're checking to see if it's eight yet, aren't you?"

I snorted, filling the sink with water so that I could wash the dishes. I could hear her feet hitting the floor behind me while she did her little dance, and I let out a groan. "Mom, I just want to see _who_ wins, that doesn't mean that I want to win."

"Do you?" She said, coming up behind me.

"No," I said, for what felt like the hundredth time.

My mother frowned, watching my hands scrub at the plates and utensils that were before me. Her eyes were like hawks on my hands, and after only a minute, I began to squirm under her gaze, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," She said, drumming her nails on the counter, "just admit you want to marry the prince."

"Mom," I whined, letting my eyes drop closed for a few seconds, "I really, really do not."

"Whatever you say," she said, finally walking away. She left the room and headed into the living room, where I heard the television click on.

When I was drying the last of our dishes, her voice carried through from the living room, and she sung the words like a song, "Only five minutes until the Report."

"Thanks for the information, mom." I said, rolling my eyes. I hung the dampened dish towel on the bar that protruded from the oven before I walked into the living room and collapsed next to her on the couch, using my feet to kick my socks off.

We watched the ending to a show I couldn't even name, and when it's credits finished rolling, the beginning of the Report began to play.

The Illéa Capitol Report was the one show that every teenage girl in the nation wouldn't go without, and likely their parents, either. It brought every bit of gossip of the Royals Family to the people's own living room, adding in the political crap for the dad's, I figured. Every Friday night, everyone was likely doing the exact same thing—and that was sitting in front of the T.V. screen watching the Reports live show.

"Good evening, Illéa. In just two weeks, 35 lucky young women will be off to Angeles to compete for the hand of our adored Prince Roman." Gavril, the host of the show, said, his eyes on the camera. "Tonight, we bring you a specially crafter episode of _The Capital Report_ : the first in the series of selection-oriented ones that will follow. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we reveal to you those lucky women."

There was applause in the background, coming from excited members of the audience. My mother bounced in her seat beside me, obviously excited. I laughed, shaking my head at her. I understood _why_ my mom was excited, but I didn't quite grasp the reasoning behind it. While the host of the Report continued his chatter about the importance of the Selection, I watched my mother stare at the screen with a smile wider than the T.V. screen itself.

"And now," Gavril said, and the camera slowly began zooming out, "I introduce to you the Crowned Prince Roman of Illéa. Roman, how are you doing tonight?"

I could practically hear the thousands of squeals that came from the girls at home, who sat in front of their televisions gaping at the Prince as he walked out. Roman Séear was beautiful on the outside, but I was as close to positive as I could be that he was anything but beautiful on the inside. His hair was black and always went un-styled, and his arms were wide enough to inspire a certain level of intimidation. He walked onto the stage next to Gavril with a crooked smile, waving at the camera in front of him before sliding onto the chair across from the host.

Prince Roman had been a headline in the news lately, for a lot of things that were less than princely. Just the week before the Selection applications had gone out, he'd been pictured _galavanting,_ as the papers had put it, with an unnamed woman outside the castle walls. Prince Roman had become notorious for sneaking out of the castle, despite the risk it had on his life and well being. It was as if the life of riches and nobility were simply not enough for him, and he didn't want it.

"I'm fantastic, Gavril, how about yourself?" The Prince said, tugging at the edges of his jacket. Everything about that boy screamed money in a way that I could have only dreamed, and I could envy settling into my chest the more I stared at him.

"I'm wonderful, thank you," Gavril said, "Now, you must be a little nervous about this, right? I mean, you're going to meet the woman who you'll marry in just two weeks!"

"It's a bit nerve-wracking, yes," he said, nodding, "but I'm confident it will all go well."

"Good," Gavril said, reaching next to him to grab at a paper that'd been sitting on the table. He turned to the camera, then, "now, the moment everyone has been waiting for. These girls are about to enter the competition that will change their lives forever, whether they marry our beloved Prince or not."

Gavril cleared his throat, eyeing the paper in his hand. I felt oddly calm while I waited for him to read off the names, but I couldn't deny the flutter in my stomach while he did. I might not have _wanted_ to be in the Selection, but something about the glamour and riches that it could have brought me made it thrilling. "From Kent, Miss Quinn Bealtey, a three."

The girls photo popped up onto half of the screen, leaving the other half showing only the prince. I imagined he'd be able to see the photo's, too, just on a different screen in the filming room. The girl who was on our television then was gorgeous, with blonde locks and blue eyes—I felt like everyone else had already lost the competition. Prince Roman kept his face still and free of any telling emotions, but I wondered if he saw the same beauty that I did in that girl.

As Gavril continued reading the names, my mind was boggled and turned upside down at each of the photos. I couldn't believe that it'd been a lottery that had chosen the girls on the screen—every one of them was beautiful in way that said they were made for the television. They were so pretty, I thought any one of them would have made a perfect Queen standing next to Roman.

Half way through the names, Gavril cleared his throat, "From Whites, Miss Caroline Garett, a four."

Another photo came onto the screen, but Gavril spoke over it. "From Allens—"

My mom gasped, reaching over and snatching my hand from my lap. I jumped at her sudden movement, watching her bounce up and down in her seat, exclaiming, "This is it, this is it!"

"Shh, mom!" I said, shooting her a look. She snapped her jaw shut, and the two of us looked back at the T.V.

I'd missed Gavril reading off the name, but I looked back in time to see the photo on the screen. For a second, I could do nothing but stare at the T.V. and see the girl's brown hair, falling in tangled locks above her shoulders. At first, I didn't recognise her, but when I did, I jumped to my feet and felt my mouth drop open. I had no words, no thoughts except one: me.

My mother was quiet for what felt like the longest time after that. Though Gavril continued reading off the names, entirely unfazed, my mom and I weren't paying attention in the slightest. I turned to look at her, swallowing, "that… that was me."

"That was you," She said, nodding. She met my eyes, and I saw how wide hers were, how shocked her face was. There were thousands of people living in the same province as us, and thousands of those people were eligible for the Selection, and somehow, it was me who was picked.

At some point while I was blankly staring at the ground, absorbed in my own mind, the phone rung, and it didn't stop for days.


	3. Chapter 3

I'd spent close to half the night answering the phone and listening to people I hadn't talked to in ages congratulate me for having been selected. By the time I'd gone to sleep, my eyes had been heavy, and I'd set my alarm for 11am the next day, just in case I slept in. Apparently that had been a good idea, because when I woke up in the morning it was to the annoyingly loud, blaring sound of the alarm of the clock that I kept on my bedside table.

I slapped my hand over the button on top of my bedside clock, and when it's noise finally stopped, I let my eyes open. The light that flooded in from my window felt harsh, and I could feel the bags under my eyes before I saw them. They felt like weights pulling down on my eyelids.

I gave myself only a few extra minutes to lie there and wake up before I slid off of my bed and started getting ready. The King's would have been expecting me at their house by 12, and the bus usually took half an hour or so. I eyes the clock while I pulled my still damp pants onto my legs, not bothering with the button at the top of them. The pants were hand me downs from my mom, and though I wasn't exactly big, my mother had been a twig when she was my age. I was surprised I was still able to get the fabric over my legs, but the button was out of the question.

I grabbed a safety pin from my dresser and fastened it to both sides of the fabric, making do with what I had. When I changed into the shirt that the King's had given me to wear to work, it covered the undone button anyways, so I wasn't particularly worried about it. It couldn't have been that noticeable if Miss Marion had yet to see it.

My mom was sitting in the living room when I stepped out of my room. She took one look at me and laughed, "tired?"

"Is it that obvious?" I said, yawning. I moved into the kitchen to grab a granola bar, but I could still easily hear her in the other room.

"You look like a zombie," she yelled back. "Maybe you should call the King's and say you can't come in today."

"They'd fire me." I said, sighing. Really, I wanted nothing more than to turn around and crawl back into bed and catch up on the hours of sleep I'd missed last night. I'd stopped answering the phone somewhere around midnight, or maybe it'd even been as late as one, but I was the kind of person who went to bed early and slept in late, and I cherished my sleep like the King would his crown.

"Just tell them you had official _Selection_ business to take care of." My mom said, and I laughed. "I'd love to see what they say to that."

I came back into the living room and fell back into the chair across from her. I snorted, "you know, now that I think about it, there's no way they would fire me now."

My mom nodded, "you could spend the whole day sitting in their kitchen eating their fridge empty and they wouldn't fire you."

We both laughed, and she reached forwards to turn on the T.V. I watched the beginning of the show she picked out, but sometime just after the opening credits I figured I should be on my way. I said goodbye and ran out of the apartment complex, nearly missing the bus as it came down the road.

It took just over a half hour to get to the King's house, which wasn't unusual. When I stepped off the bus, I walked only a block or two down the street before I ran up the long, winded driveway that I'd walked up a hundred times before.

I went into the house through the backdoor, stepping into the kitchen and closing the screen door behind me. Mrs. King was sitting just inside at the kitchen table, trying desperately to get Dylan to eat the sandwich that was sitting on the table in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. King." I said when I passed her. I'd almost made it out of the room when I heard her chair scrape against the floor, and I winced at the sound.

"Noah," she exclaimed, and I frowned, stopping mid step. I turned around to see her standing, staring at me as though she was surprised that I'd come into work. In the moment, I wished I'd taken my mom's advice and stayed home. "I wanted to congratulate you on the Selection! We were all watching last night."

I smiled, "yeah, thanks."

"Oh, I'm sure we can manage with just Misses Marion today," she said, walking over and putting her hand across my shoulders. I blinked, completely taken aback by the action. Mrs. King hadn't come within a foot of me since I'd first met her and shook her hand. "Would you like some tea? Juice?"

"Uh, no," I said, stumbling while she led me back around to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for me to sit in. Slowly, I lowered myself into the chair and watched her walk around and sit across from me.

She seemed to have completely forgotten about her son and the sandwich he forgot to eat, and more than anything I wanted her to turn and refocus on that. Instead, she smiled at me and rested her hands on the table in front of her, "so, you must be so excited."

"Uh," I swallowed, "yeah. It's surreal."

"I bet," she said, sighing, "Sharron was so upset when she wasn't picked, but I suppose that's just how it is. To think it was you thought! Our _maid_!"

I knew she didn't mean anything bad by the way she said it, but I couldn't help but flinch. There was a backhanded slap to her words, whether she'd meant for it or not. "Yeah."

Miss Marion sauntered into the room then with a duster in her hand. At first, she didn't notice us, but when her eyes landed on me I couldn't help but like the look of shock they took on. It was incredibly unprofessional for a servant to be sitting at their employers table while on the job, and though I'd been uncomfortable with it only moments before, seeing Marion's surprise made more tolerable. I almost felt giddy about it, really.

"Oh, Miss Marion," Mrs. King said, following my eyes and seeing the woman standing near the sink. Miss Marion looked up, nodded lightly to show her she'd heard her, "Noah will not be working today, but I trust you'll be alright?"

Miss Marion looked over at me then, and I met her eyes with all of confidence and pride I was feeling in that second. Part of me loved the way I was being treated then, but another felt awkward. I felt much like I imagined an actor playing a role would, knowing it wouldn't last and that it was all only for show.

"Of course," Miss Marion said.

"Wonderful," Mrs. King said, letting out an airy sigh.

Miss Marion turned and left the room with the bucket at hand. When I looked back at the woman in front of me, I suddenly remembered the matter of her daughter's bracelet, and I decided not to even mention it. I didn't like the way Mrs. King was looking at me, as if I was a stepping stone to get her further in the world. I didn't want to risk her taking my word for Miss Marion's possible indiscretion and firing the woman just because I was a member of the selected.

I figured if it'd been yesterday, and I was nothing but Mrs. King's lowlife maid, I would have told her of my suspicion. But not now.

After an hour of useless and bitter conversation between me and Mrs. King, I realized I would have much rather been cleaning her toilets than sitting across from her. I'd preferred it when the only conversation we had was when her son kicked over buckets in the entrance room and blamed it on me. I wondered if that was what it was going to be like until I left for Angeles, and I wasn't sure what made me more nervous: being here and dealing with people like Mrs. King, or being there and dealing with people like the Prince.

"Mrs. King," I said, interrupting her midsentence. I hadn't been listening to her, but whatever she'd been saying was long and boring, and I caught the word "crown" towards the end of it.

"Oh, please, call me Emma." She said, and my frown only deepened. I might have been the only six in the province with permission to call their employer by her first name. To think, all it took was my name to be announced on T.V., and overnight I'd gone from a rat to an equal in this woman's eyes.

"Emma," I repeated, "do you think I might be able to leave early today? Maybe even in a few minutes? I think I have some… selection business to take care of."

I winced at the lie, but I didn't feel remorse for saying it. If I'd been forced to sit there and listen to another five hours of her chatting, I'd have phoned the selection office and dropped out right then and there.

"Of course," she said, smiling. "I assume you won't be coming back for a while then? Or maybe not at all."

She winked, and I got her meaning loud and clear. I forced a smile, "Well, it's all up to the Prince, isn't it?"

The words felt forced when they left my mouth, but it was all I could think of saying. I imagined what someone like Mrs. King might have said if I told her I had no intention of becoming Queen, whether the Prince wanted me to or not.

I pulled the bus schedule out of my back pocket and checked the next time for the bus home. The next one wasn't scheduled to come by for at least a half hour, but knowing I'd have much rather spent it outside the house than in, I said goodbye to Mrs. King. I moved to leave through the back door, but Mrs. King ushered me towards the front, telling me there's no reason for me to have to walk all the way around the houses perimeters.

When I stepped onto the decorative porch outside the front door, my eyes burned from the flash of a camera. Just a few feet to my left, an older man was standing on the bottom step, a camera to his eyes. He'd stopped after just the one photo, but even that was enough to make me look at him with confusion.

"You are Miss Carins, aren't you?" He said, looking down at a notebook he'd been keeping in his front pocket. "Noah Carins? Of Allens?"

"Yes," I said, frowning. "Who are you?"

He laughed, "Oh, I'm a reporter for the Daily Report. We're doing an early bird special on the—"

I heard someone clear their throat behind me, and I looked up to see Mrs. King standing in the doorway. Attached to her hip, Dylan was looking up at me with the same annoying, beady and devious eyes he'd had yesterday. It felt refreshing to see that at least his opinion of me had stayed the same.

"I see you've met our dear _friend_ Noah," Mrs, King said, and I stared at her for a second, completely taken aback.

"Uh, yes," The reporter said, nodding. He pushed up the glasses that were falling off of his nose and swallowed, "anyways, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind answering just a quick few questions."

The reporter's camera hung from a strap that went around his neck. It was facing the wrong way, so that the lens was digging into the poor mans stomach, but so that I could see the screen. The photo he'd taken of me was hideous, to say the least—I hadn't been looking at him, but instead at the street ahead of me. My side profile was, to say the least, _not_ flattering.

I swallowed, "questions? How long is that going to take?"

"Only a minute or two," he said, eying the woman who still stood behind me, perched like a cat on the prowl.

"Sure," I said, nodding. I toyed with my thumbs while he flipped through more pages of the notebook in her hands.

"Alright, uh," he cleared his throat, "what is your favorite thing about Prince Roman?"

I blinked at the man, silent. I'd been expecting something simple like my favorite colour, or the skills I'd listed on my Selection Application form. I wondered if saying nothing would have been an acceptable answer, but somehow, I doubted it. Instead, I shrugged, "does he like blue?"

"The colour?" The man said, frowning. "I'm not sure. I think so?"

"Okay," I said, "then, that."

His frown turned into a look of confusion, and I couldn't really blame him. "You like that he likes the colour blue?"

I nod, "yes."

The reporter's eyebrows rose, but he wrote my answer down all the same. "Okay, um, what is something about you that is, maybe, unique against the other girls?"

That question was one that I found significantly less hard, but still struggled to find an answer for. "I… I want to be a doctor."

"A doctor?" The reporter repeated, writing my answer down, "but you're a six, are you not?"

I hesitated, wondering if ill-regarded the caste system while being on the record was a bad idea. Still, I said, "I imagine there are eights out there who've wanted to be singers, or sevens that have wanted to be chefs. I understand that I cannot _be_ a doctor, but is that supposed to make me not _want_ to be one?"

The reporter was quiet for a minute, and I could almost see the gears turning in his head while he processed this. I hadn't expected him to write my words down, but when I did, I felt a sense of pride. I'd been careful to ill-regard the caste system itself, but I said enough that I thought my dislike for it was implied just enough.

"Thank you for your time, miss." He said, turning and making his way back to his car.

From behind me, Mrs. King sighed, "oh, isn't this just so exciting!"

"Very." I said, nodding slowly, "well, I should be going to catch that bus."

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, waving, "have a wonderful day."

I nod, "You too. Emma."

My mom wasn't home when I walked in the front door of our apartment, but that didn't really surprise me. Our work hours usually ended close to the same time, it was just that the family of Two's that she worked for lived closer to home than the King's did, so she usually got home first.

The clock on the over read 2pm when I slipped my shoes off of my feet and hung my jacket on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. The last time I'd been home at two on a Wednesday had been before I'd turned 16 and was eligible for work in the province of Allens.

My house was plain, and when I fell back onto the couch in the living room I found myself thinking about how different it would be to live at the castle. I'd spent every night of my life, aside from those few right after I was born, under the roof I was sitting under then. My mother and I had never had the money to travel to the neighbouring city, let alone to another province. Let alone across the country.

I spent the day lounging on the couch, watching whatever T.V. programs that were running over the day. Just before the clock hit seven, I decided to get up and make dinner for my mom and I, and when she walked in the door a half hour after she was pleasantly surprised.

"Hi," she said, eying the macaroni that I was pouring into bowls from the pot. "When did you get home?"

"Like, two," I said, bringing the two bowls over to the table. I fell back into one of the chairs and picked up a fork. "Mrs. King was treating me weird. I didn't like it."

My mom suddenly stopped moving, looking at me from her stance across the kitchen. I was about to ask her why she was looking at me like she was, but she spoke first. "Get used to it, princess."

" _Princess,_ " I snorted, rolling my eyes, "is that the new _miracle_?"

"Oh, you'll always be my miracle," she said, stepping over and kissing the top of my head. I squirmed under the sudden attention, but she ignored it. "You're just a princess, too."

"No, I'm not." I said, shaking my head. I bit into the food in front of me and looked up at her.

The phone rang just as my mom sat down, and when she moved to grab it I waved my hand at her to tell her to sit down. I jumped up from my seat with a mouth full of macaroni, chewing while I ran to the phone.

"Hello?" I mumbled when I lifted it off of the keypad.

A woman cleared their throat on the other end of the line, "is this Noah Carins?"

I looked back at my mom and saw her mouth the words "who is it". I shrugged. "Yes, it is."

"Wonderful," the woman over the phone said. I heard the click of what I assumed was a pen in the background. "My name is Naomi Richards, I'm the event coordinator at the palace in Angeles. I'm calling to inform you that tomorrow morning you will be visited by officials regarding all sorts of paperwork and contracts having to do with the Selection. Does 10am work alright with you?"

I blinked, putting my hand over the microphone and whispering to my mom, "Palace events coordinator."

"Sounds fancy." My mom said, wiggling her eyebrows.

I swallowed, lifting my hand off the mic, "Uh, yeah, I think that'll be fine."

"Perfect," Naomi said, and I heard her sigh, "over the next two weeks you will be visited by a lot of different people, however I will call you before they arrive to give you a notice, much like I am doing right now. I know you're of the Sixth caste, and so I'm sure a lot of what is about to happen will be overwhelming, but I ask you to get used to it as quickly as you can."

"Okay," I said, frowning.

"Have a good evening, Miss Carins." The woman said, before the soft click of the phone told me she'd hung up.

I put the phone back on the console and moved back to the table. When I slid back into my chair, I was surprised that my mom didn't ask me what the phone call had been about right away. Instead, she stayed silent and let me scarf down the rest of the food in my bowl. She did the dishes after we were finished, leaving me to retreat to my room.

When I closed the door behind me, I looked around at the floor that was covered in clothes and books and all sorts of things I hadn't touched in weeks. I wondered if, if I made a mess of it, the palace would have people to clean my room for me while I was there. As soon as that thought popped into my head, I thought of Sharron King, and vowed to make sure my room was clean every day that I was there.

I'd have been damned if I let a stay at the palace turn me into Sharron King.


	4. Chapter 4

When the doorbell rang at 10am, I let my mom run over and answer the door. I sat still on the couch, listening while a flood of people stepped in through the doorway. I could hear the shuffle of boots on the carpet that lined the entryway just inside the doorframe, and I frowned when my mother called my name.

Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet and shuffled my way into the kitchen. There were three men hovering around our kitchen table, each with their own briefcase lying on top of it. I watched while they opened one after the other, arranging and rearranging the papers that they pulled from them. The tallest of them turned around and smiled at me, though the mustache that he had under his nose made the gesture seem more creepy than kind.

"Miss Carins, my name is Preston Leeroy, I'm the head of the Crowns legal department." He said, reaching out to shake my hand. I met his hand with my own and felt my arm shake under the force he used. He didn't seem to notice my discomfort, and he only kept talking. "We're here to talk to you about the rules and such surrounding the Selection. Please, have a seat. This might take a while."

I moved to sit on one of the chairs, ignoring the fact that he'd offered me a seat in my own house. The other two men with him stayed silent while he spoke, and I dubbed them his lackeys. He sat across from me, and my mom came over to hover behind me, watching the whole thing unfold very carefully.

"So, I have here the written version of everything that I'm about to tell you," he said, sliding a wad of papers towards me. I picked it up and frowned—there had to have been tens of pages in it. I read the title and frowned, not completely believing that there could have been so many rules in a competition based around the Prince choosing a wife. What could there have been other than 'play nice' and 'stay put'?

The man cleared his throat, "First off, we ask that you remain within the palace's property, for obvious reasons. We cannot insure your safety if you leave, and for that reason we ask that you don't. The guards that man the gates have been instructed not to let you leave the premises unless you're accompanied by the proper documentation, or there's been an outing arranged by Mrs. Richards."

I recognised the name 'Richards' from the phone call I'd gotten the night before, so I didn't have to ask him that. With the rebel alliance that seemed to have been doing nothing but growing in the past few months, I had no reason to question that first rule, either.

For years, there'd been nothing but peace in Illéa, but people had begun to grow against the system our government had in place. The rebels were made out of mostly people in the lower castes—eights, sevens and the occasional six—but I wouldn't have been surprised to see a few higher-ranked people in the mix, either. The monarchy had hundreds of laws in place that all kinds of people were against, and they were starting to fight back.

In the past month alone, there'd been three separate attacks in three different provinces. One of them had been in Angeles, on the palace itself. The attackers hadn't been able to make it past the first line of defence, as the papers and new reports had claimed, but that didn't make it any less frightening. The fact that the rebels had felt confident enough to hit the castle left everyone wondering what they were confident enough to try next.

"Next," Preston Leeroy continued, "we must stress that you don't have any personal relationships with anyone aside from the prince. Any romantic relationships with, say, a guard, could result in you and your respective partner being tried for treason."

I didn't see how that could apply to me, but still, I felt my chest constrict at the word treason. Trials in which that was the accusation always ended the same: execution. It was one of the only cases that had death as a punishment, but it was becoming less and less rare. There'd been four people executed in the past year, and considering Illéa hadn't seen an execution since King Carlos had been crowned, that was a lot.

"Everything will be provided for you at the palace, and so we ask that you leave thing such as clothing and food and such here." The man said, "for security reasons, we can't have you bringing in anything unless it can't be made there. So, something like a photo would be alright, but not a bag, you understand?"

I nodded, and he smiled. I wondered if that was the rule he got into fights about the most, considering it was a competition with girls as the competitors, and I imagined at least one or two had a favorite purse or shawl they never left home without.

"I need you to sign here just to say you understood those first few things," he slid a paper my way, a black leather pen sitting on top of it. I wrote my name neatly on the bottom of the page—I'd never had need for a signature, and so I didn't have one. "Now, should the Prince decide to dismiss you, you must be packed and ready to go within the day. If he abruptly decides to let you go at night, you will have until noon the following day to be gone. A car will be called for you and you will be taken to the airport to catch a flight, free of charge, of course.

"And finally, from this moment on your status is a Three."

The moment the words left his mouth, I felt myself choke on the air I'd been breathing. My mother gasped behind me, repeating the word under her breath so quietly I was sure she thought no one could hear her. _Three, three, three, three…_ I was about to be competing for the job any woman with half a brain would want, to be Queen, and yet in that second all I could think about was that I could have been a doctor.

"Girls tend to find it hard to return back to their regular lives if they're anywhere under a Four, so this seems to help," he said, nodding. He pulled out another paper and slid it towards me. This one, as I noted, had significantly less words than the last. "I need you to confirm that you are, in fact, a virgin, Miss Carins."

I felt my cheeks turn red at the question, and I nodded furiously. The law stated that it was illegal to have sex if you were unmarried, and I knew that. Still, the fact that they needed to ask me directly instead of just assuming I followed the law made my blood boil a little—maybe more like simmer. As if the prince's integrity was worth more than any other man's.

"Of course she is," my mom laughed, but I did not. My cheeks burned too much to find the humor in the question.

"Perfect, then just sign here," he said, pointing to the line at the bottom of the page. "I should also warn you, Miss Carins, that if you're found to be lying—"

"I'm not," I said, almost barking the words. He nodded, and I scribbled my name on the paper faster than I thought possible.

"Perfect," he said, gathering the papers I'd signed and shoving them into his briefcase. He left the wad of papers he'd given me in the beginning on the table in front of me, and when he latched his briefcase closed I realized they were mine to keep.

He stood, pushing up his wide-rimmed glasses with his finger, "before I go, I should also say that while you're in the castle you are expected to do whatever the Prince asks of you, Miss Carins. It's not exactly a _rule,_ but it is, well, expected."

I nodded, "of course."

He laughed dryly, "I don't think you're understanding what I mean. Whether it be a kiss or a date or even a… night, it would not do you any good to refuse him."

If I'd had red cheeks before, I had scarlet skin then. He stood to leave, and as he walked out the door, his two lackeys followed him out. My mom closed the door behind them, but I stayed sitting at the table, disgusted at the mans words.

I'd been feeling a whirlwind of emotions about the Selection since even before I'd handed in my application. I'd felt excited and nervous and happy and sad, but I hadn't felt afraid until right then. The Prince was above me, that much I knew, but I hadn't let that fact sink in until right then. He'd grown up to girls dropping to kiss his feet and probably offering themselves to him on silver platters, and I figured many of the girls I'd be with in the Selection would be just like that.

But I sincerely hoped the Prince would not be looking for that from me, because as much of a Godly complex as the boy might've had, I would have been ready to smack him down to my level if he so much as put a finger on me.

The days passed quickly, and I found myself dizzy with every passing hour. Every tic of the clock made my head spin even more. Women came to measure my arms and waist and all sorts of other area's, writing the numbers down in a little book that had my full name on the cover. Men came and gave me all sorts of medication, from diet supplements and vitamins to little blue ones that were supposed to make my skin clear up of all acne.

The amount of people that had been in our house in the two weeks that followed the day Gavril announced my name on T.V. had to have amounted to double, if not triple, the amount of people that had ever been in our house before. I felt like a circus act that people just couldn't get enough of.

Naomi Richards had stayed true to her promise and called the night before anyone showed up, and I had begun to cherish the days where I didn't have to hear her voice. I'd heard it almost every night, and it'd become quickly annoying after the fourth day. She had a way of sounding condescending, sick, and tired all at the same time.

A man and a woman came to get my bag and anything that I might be bringing with me the night before I was supposed to leave. While the man was there to do nothing but carry my bag out and into the car they'd arrived in, the girl had come to look through it. I stood behind her while she rifled through the contents of the small backpack I'd tucked everything into. She pulled out every photo frame and pen that was in it and examined each item with squinted eyes.

When they left, I turned to my mom and squinted at her, and though she laughed, she hit me on the shoulder and told me not to make fun of people.

"But, mom," I said, squinting again, "did you _see_ her? She was treating my toothbrush like it was a weapon."

"Yes, well," my mom smiled, "you are going to live with the royal family. They need to be safe, I suppose."

I rolled my eyes, "did she think I was going to carve my toothbrush into a shiv and stab the Prince? Do they not have a kitchen with things like knives there?"

My mother snorted, but she didn't edge me on any further. Instead, she turned on the T.V. and we waited for the nightly update on the Selection. Only a week ago, they'd made a half-hour long slot in the T.V. programs for a special broadcast. Uncreatively, they'd named it _The Selection._

The host was a woman who's name I had long since forgotten, considering the only time she'd introduced herself had been the first episode of the show. She had long blonde hair and always wore the same kind of dress—long and black and probably worth a lot of money. When the show came on, she was sitting on a couch that was whiter than anything I'd ever seen before.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, staring deep into the camera. I shivered. "Are you as excited as I am? Tomorrow morning we will meet the 35 young women who will be the face of your T.V. screens for the next who knows how long. We've learnt their names and we've seen their photo's, but tomorrow, we get to see them live."

My mom reached over and tapped my shoulder, her action full of all of the pent up excitement she'd been showing over the past few days. I would have bet money that my mom was more excited about the whole event than I was.

I'd been warned about the T.V. appearance only yesterday, and the idea of it made my stomach do somersaults. It wasn't like I was expecting to steer clear of the screens completely, but I hadn't realized we'd be appearing on them so soon. I saw myself tripping over a dress that was too long, or shoes that were too high, all while a million people watched from home.

"The girls will each be picked up from their homes and brought out to the wave goodbye to their cities before making their way to the closest nation-wide airports, and then they'll make their way here. Our show will be a little bit longer tomorrow, because we'll be showing you clips of the girls saying goodbye to their family and friends, their arrival in Angeles, and not to mention the _makeovers._ "

I groaned, and my mom let out a laugh.

"And finally, tomorrow night you'll have to tune into the _Capitol Report,_ in which Gavril will be meeting the girls and getting up close and personal with each and every one of them." The woman on the screen said, letting out a squeal, "So get ready, because tomorrow, the Selection begins!"

The remainder of the show was boring, and it was mostly full of the same chat that had been airing over the past few nights. The host talked about the competitors and their home city, and me and my caste seemed to me a reoccurring topic. There was only one other Six in the competition, and the news reports and broadcasts all seemed to group me and her together as though we were already friends. Apparently to them being from such low castes made us shoo-ins for besties.

Leah McMaire seemed nice enough, but I couldn't really judge her yet, considering all I'd seen was her photo. I'd thought all of the girls looked like they were nice, but my mom had specifically warned me not to let myself be fooled.

My mother could remember the days of King Carlos' selection, and she'd recounted to me numerous stories that made me even more nervous than I'd been before. There'd been girls who cut others' hair, and girls who scratched and punched, and a girl who went as far as to push a competitor down the stairs. The entire event was like a short lived reality T.V. show, fit with drama that bought it's own viewers.

When I retired to my room to get some sleep, I climbed into bed and stared at the outside that hung form my closet door. The duo that'd come to pick up my bag had dropped it off when they arrived, telling me it was the uniform I was to wear on my way to the airport tomorrow. It was nothing more than a shirt and pants, but it was still made out of fabric that I could have only dreamed of before—even nicer than the dress my mom had bought me not long before.

I fell asleep thinking of that dress, and how I'd only worn it once, and how I was leaving it at home tomorrow, alongside my mom.


	5. Chapter 5

My mom woke me up in the morning by shaking my shoulders furiously. My eyes jolted open after one or two good pushes, and I turned to give her a glare. I'd been expecting to see her standing at the side of my bed with a smile full of excitement and glee, but instead she only looked worried. I sat up and rubbed at my eyes.

"What?" I said, yawning. "What time is it?"

"A little after nine." She said, frowning, "but you need to start getting ready. They said they'll be here to pick you up at ten."

I scowled, "That's in a whole hour."

When I moved to crawl back under my blanket, she pulled it off of my bed, letting the cotton duvet drop to the floor. I frowned, staring down at it as though my dreams had been crushed. My mom put her hands on her hips and looked at me in a way that made my sit up a little straighter and lose my frown. "You want to go onto T.V. with no makeup and your hair as it is?"

I blinked, "they give us a makeover."

"They give you a makeover _in Angeles,_ " my mom groaned, "what about the 'clips of you saying goodbye to your family and friends'?"

I took only a second to let her words sink in before I swung my feet over the side of my bed and launched into action. My mom left my room only when she saw me digging my old mascara and lip gloss out from the bottoms of drawers in my dresser. As a kid, I'd begged for the stuff, and right then I was glad that I had.

I lathered my lips in a shade of pink that was closer to red, and then I changed out of my pyjama's and into the clothes that had been hanging from my closet door. The pants were a tight fit, but I felt like that was just how they'd been designed. Considering the seamstresses they'd sent had been overly thorough about my measurements, I couldn't see them being too small.

The shirt felt like water on my skin—it was white silk that I'd never once thought I'd wear. When I slipped the blazer they'd given me on over top, I was almost sad to cover the sleeves of it. Still, it wasn't as though the jacket was poor quality in comparison. When I looked in the mirror, I wondered why I'd ever hated dress up as a child.

My mother ushered me into the living room to do my hair for me when I was done, and I sat patiently on the floor in front of her while she braided my hair down my back. It ended somewhere near the bottom of my back, and my mom sighed when she finished, laughing at how much hair I had.

We spent the few minutes that we had left after that sipping at tea in the kitchen, and then there was a knock at the door. I looked over at my mom, and for a second, neither of us moved. It wasn't as though this was when we were to say goodbye—we'd have time for that in the town square—but it was the last moment I was going to be in the house for a while. I didn't even know how long 'a while' was going to be.

She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder, keeping it there for only a few seconds, before she went to answer the door. When she pulled it open, a woman stepped inside, the click of her stiletto heels on our carpet sounding almost foreign to my ears. She looked at me and smiled, "let's go, then, shall we?"

My mom and I moved out the door and followed the stranger down the stairs and out the front door of the apartment complex. The halls were empty, and the only sound I could hear in the whole building was that made by our shoes on the floor. I wondered if the other tenants had gone to see me off, as well.

The car outside wasn't really a car at all, but a limo. My mom and I climbed into the back of it, all giddy and smiling, and I was sure the woman who'd led us there thought we were both children. She climbed into the vehicle after us, knocking on the small glass pane that separated us from the driver. Not long after that, we began moving.

The woman cleared her throat, "I imagine this is all going to be very weird for you, so I'm telling you now that it is going to be loud, and there are going to be a lot of people in that square."

I nodded.

"I'm going to be with you until we get to the airport in Waverly," she said, looking down at her nails with disinterest, "and then you'll be on a plane with a few other girls on your way to Angeles. Any questions?"

"How many other girls?" I asked, and she took a moment to count on her fingers.

"Four of you in total." She said, "they didn't want to send 35 different planes to Angeles at once, so we've just put you all into little groups according to which provinces are closest to which national airports."

"Makes sense," I said, turning my head to look out the window.

The crowd became visible what had to be ten blocks from the train station, and I found myself staring at it the whole time we drove through it. The limo went slowly, honking at people that refused to get out of the way. It was almost ten thirty by the time it's engine turned off, and the woman we'd been riding with climbed out first.

She stood just beside the door, smiling at the people that were being held back by policemen while she waited for my mom and I to get out. When my foot hit the pavement, I heard the screams that came from the people that were only a few feet away from us, and I took a moment to stare in awe. There was a camera set up just a few feet to my left, pointed at an angle that probably let it get both my reaction, and that of the crowd.

My mom put her arm around my shoulders, leaning in close, "that's all for you."

I grinned, watching as the unnamed woman moved towards the stairs that led to the makeshift stage that'd been set up outside of the train station. The mayor stood up top of it, clapping next to a microphone, and I felt my face go white at the sight of it, hoping I wouldn't be expected to speak. My mom and I stood off to the side while the mayor leaned into the microphone, reading to talk, if it weren't for the roaring crowd in front of him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the lady of the hour, Miss Noah Carins!" The mayor said, clapping again. He faced me then, but he was careful to keep his mouth next to the mic so he could be heard, "Noah, all of Allens will be cheering you on, and we wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you," I said, but I wasn't sure if he could hear me.

Before I could protest, he reached forwards and pulled me towards the microphone, and suddenly I was standing in front of it. I had hundreds of eyes on me, and my mind went blank. I had nothing to say, and yet I had to say _something._ I cleared my throat, "thank you so much, and… just, thank you."

The mayor nodded, moving in to take his place back in front of the microphone, I stepped back and leaned into my mom, whispering, "that was so bad."

"It was fine," she said, but her laugh gave her away. The mayor spoke for only a few minutes longer, though I wasn't listening to what he was saying, the crowd must have been, for his words were followed by cheers.

The woman who'd led my mom and I up onto the stage tapped my shoulder soon after and told me to say goodbye, and I nodded. When I turned back to my mom, her arms were already outstretched, ready for me to hug her, which I did.

She spoke while I was trapped in her arms, "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I'll be back soon enough," I said, and she laughed. "Within the week."

"I'll bet money you're wrong," she said, pulling back. She held be at an arm's reach, looking over my face, "have a good time, Noah. I know it's going to be overwhelming and stressful, probably, but enjoy yourself."

I felt tears forming in my eyes, but I blinked them back. My mom, however, let hers flow freely down her cheeks. I sniffled, and the woman who'd been in the car with us tapped my shoulder again, telling me I needed to go. I spared one last look at my mother before I followed the unnamed woman into the train station behind me.

It was weird to hear the way the doors closing behind us cut off all of the screaming from outside. It was even weirder to see how empty the train station was, and I realized we were probably going to be the only people on the train as well.

I'd never been on a train before then, but when we stepped up into the compartment, it didn't seem as strange as I thought it would. When it started moving, I turned to watch the tracks go by through the window beside me.

It only took an hour to get to the airport in Waverly, and when we did, the crowds there were huge compared to the one back in Allens, which made sense. Why go see one girl off when you can see four?

We'd switched from the train into a car at the edge of the city, but that'd been two short of a ride to say much about. When I climbed out of the car at the airport, the woman I'd been travelling with up to date stayed in the comfort of the vehicle, instructing me to stay close behind the two guards that were waiting outside.

Blocked off by ropes tied to small silver poles, hundreds of people were standing outside the airports entrance screaming. A good chunk of them had signs, and while I was walking, I even saw one or two with my name scrawled across the board. It brought a warm, gooey feeling to my stomach, and I smiled while I walked, even giving off a wave or two while I did. I felt like a celebrity.

Inside, there was already one girl waiting outside the gate. She had blonde hair that fell down until it just barely brushed her shoulders, and though I recognised her face from the television programs, I had no idea what her name was. She stood when she saw me, smiling, and I was nearly taken aback by how white her teeth were.

"Hi!" She said, reaching out to pull me into a hug. I blinked, waiting until she loosened her grip and let me step back to respond.

"Hi," I said, "I'm Noah."

"Oh, I know," she said, pushing back a lock of her hair. She pushed the sunglasses she had over her eyes up so they sat on top of her head, "I'm Tamara. From Waverly. Here."

I smiled, moving to sit across from where she'd been sitting before. She sat down when I did, and I saw the magazine she had open beside her, flipped open to the page on the Selection. I saw five of the girls' photo's on that page, next to a small paragraph of information about them. Near the bottom, I saw my own.

Tamara must have seen me staring at it, because she picked it up and held it out to me. "I'm done with it anyways. Pretty much memorized the whole thing."

I laughed, grabbing it from her, "thanks."

I skimmed passed all of the other girls' sections and basically just read over my own, seeing how such a high end magazine would have portrayed me. If it had been a month ago, I would have laughed if anyone told me my photo would be on one of it's pages.

It didn't have much information on me, which I had expected. It wasn't as though there was a lot to know. I saw it'd taken some information form the Selection application, which made me slightly uncomfortable to know that they'd somehow gotten a hold of it.

When I was done, I handed it back to Tamara and she put it back on the seat beside her, grinning, "so, are you excited?"

"Yeah," I said, surprised when I meant it. As much as I couldn't stand for the idea of the selection and what it stood for, I couldn't deny the excitement I was feeling right then. Thousands of girls were envying me right then, which was a nice turn of events considering I used to be the girl doing the envying. "You?"

"I'm shaking I'm so excited," she said, holding her hand in front of her eyes to see. "We're going to meet the Prince today, I can't believe it."

"Yeah," I laughed, "I'm nervous, to be honest. We're going to be on live T.V. today."

Tamara gasped, "oh, I know! I'm so worried I'm going to mess up and, like, fall or something."

"Same," I said, laughing.

The click of heels on the floor behind me made me turn to get a look at who was there. Two more girls were making their ways towards us, accompanied by the same men who'd walked me here. Tamara stood, just like she'd done for me, but I did nothing more but turn my body towards the girls and smile.

One of them was short, with red hair and heels that matched it. She smiled at me and Tamara when she came up to us, looking almost as happy and giddy as Tamara did. The second girl was a brunette, but she didn't give either of us any kind of reaction. When she came over, she said nothing—I wondered if she'd even seen us.

"Alright, girls," a man said, coming out of the walkway that had been closed a moment before, "now that we're all here, I reckon we can be on our way."

"Yay," Tamara said, grabbing her magazine and grinning at me again. I followed her into the gate, leaving the other two to follow me.

I'd never been in a plane before, but I got the suspicion that ours was slightly fancier than what others might have looked like. There were only eight chairs in the passenger's part of it, each of which looked like a small version of a couch. I slid into one near the middle, and Tamara claimed the one across from me.

"Well, ladies, have a safe flight and enjoy yourselves," the pilot said, turning to head into the cockpit. He stopped just before he disappeared behind a curtain up front, "oh, and there's food in the fridge just up here if you girls get hungry. It'll be a while before we land."

The moment the pilot disappeared, Tamara leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh, "I'm so excited, I just can't stop being excited."

I laughed, my eyes drifting up to where the two other girls had chosen to sit. Both of them chose to sit far away from anyone else, and they had headphones on their heads, plugged into devices that hid in their pockets. I leaned towards Tamara, whispering, "what are their names?"

She nodded, "The red-head is Ashley Beers, and the other one is Sierra Michaels."

"Huh," I said nodding slowly, "they don't seem too friendly."

Tamara shrugged, "their parents probably told them the same thing mine told me. I'm _supposed_ to see everyone here as competition."

I frowned, snorting. "I get that, but I also don't. You should enjoy yourself while we're there—how many times are you going to get to say you're living at the palace?"

"Well," Tamara winked, "whoever wins is going to be saying it for a long, long time."

I turned my attention to the window, peering out at the sky, watching as the buildings below us got smaller and smaller. I swallowed, feeling a bit of fear in the pit of my stomach, which only grew with the higher we got. Eventually it faded, and I could look out at the clouds that we passed with utter awe. It was a sight I'd never have thought I'd be able to see.

When the pilot had warned us that the flight would be a while, I hadn't realized he'd meant hours. When we got to Angeles, Tamara had to shake me awake—sometime between the third and fourth hour, I'd fallen asleep. The act had been more out of boredom than exhaustion, though, I was sure.

The crowds outside the Angeles airport were the biggest so far. I'd never seen so many people crowding one place in my life. There were even more signs then there'd been in Waverly, and it was nearly impossible to turn my head 10 degree's and not find one that said _Noah_ written across it.

While we walked through the sectioned off area outside, I couldn't help but stop for a minute and stare at the people. Tamara slowed her pace to wait for me, smiling at how star struck I was. When I raced back over to her, and laughed, "It's a lot of people, right?"

"Yeah," I said, whistling, "I'll say."

We piled into a limo, and when I sat down, squished between Ashley and Tamara, I found that there was already a woman sitting across from us. Sierra had claimed the seat next to her, relishing in the space that the empty middle seat provided her.

The woman smiled at us, though she didn't say anything. When the car started moving, I turned my head to the window yet again and watched the city go by. The buildings seemed so much taller than the one's back home, and I could see the ocean hidden just behind them. Allens was right beside an ocean as well, but it was the Atlantic, and this was the Pacific.

I leaned over to Tamara, "I can't wait to tell my mom I just saw the Pacific ocean."

"Right?" Tamara laughed.

For the rest of the ride, I kept my head turned and my eyes out the window, but no matter how amazed I was by the things we passed on our route, it wasn't until we got to the palace that I was truly in awe.


	6. Chapter 6

The gate towered over their car, fastened out of iron that'd been welded to look like vines. I gaped at it, leaning over Tamara to press the button that would unroll the window. While I climbed over her to poke my head out of the car, I was sure those that chose to keep all of their limbs inside the vehicle were looking at me like I was insane, but It didn't care. Not then.

The car rolled forwards slowly, and I watched as we passed the stone wall that stretched on for what looked like miles, tall enough that it had to be impossible to climb over. The yard that hid just behind it was the brightest green I'd ever seen, cutting off in a straight line right where the stone road that the car drove on began. Not a single blade of grass crossed the line.

I turned to look ahead, and suddenly there were too many things to look at. I couldn't keep my eyes in one place.

The palace was huge, and though I'd see it on countless occasions on the television, it didn't do it justice. It was huge, with pillars coming down from the roof in the front, and windows surrounded by iron with designs that matched the gate out front. It looked more like a hotel than someone's home.

Just in front of it, the road turned into a circle surrounding a gorgeous fountain. While the car drove around it, I was able to look up and gape at the sculpture from which the water shot out of—it was marble shaped like a man and a woman dancing, with water coming out in tiers just below it.

Tamara leaned out the window beside me, looking up at the piece of art and clicking her tongue, "I read that it's as old as the palace itself. An artist centuries back painted it for his Queen as a gift, and it's been here ever since."

"Well, I can see why no one ever got rid of it," I said, just as the car slowed to a stop.

Tamara and I pulled our heads back into the car and clicked the button to roll the window up, waiting until it was closed to pile out.

The car had stopped just in front of the front grand staircase that led up to the front doors. Tamara and I stood outside the limo waiting for the others to come out. When Ashley stepped out beside us, she smiled at the sight of the palace, and then leaned over, whispering, "it's so pretty."

"The prettiest," Tamara agreed.

The front doors were pushed open, and a woman made her way down each of what looked like twenty steps. Her hells were short, but they still clicked with each new placement of her foot. Her hair was styled up in a perfectly pined bun, and even as she drew closer, I couldn't point out a single hair out of place.

Sierra stepped out of the car just as the woman reached the bottom step, looking over us through her wide-rimmed glasses. She smiled, but it looked completely forced. "Ladies, welcome to the palace. My name is Naomi Richards, I would have spoken to each of you on the phone. Now, if you'd follow me."

She spun on her heels and began making her way back up the stairs. The moment the four of us began to follow, the car we'd been standing against started to make it's leave, and we were suddenly stranded there, in the shadow of a house so big it could have fit ten of my apartment complexes.

The doors were held open for us by two guards that were standing outside them, both of which wore the same kind of navy blue and white uniform. Naomi soared right passed the men without so much as a glance in their direction, but I ushered a quick 'thanks' while we walked passed.

The inside of the palace was just as glamorous as the outside. We walked into a room that was heavily decorated but lacking any furniture, with a roof that stretched as high as the whole building, forming a skylight at the top. I gaped at the beauty of it, with the cream-painted walls that contrasted the red carpet. There were statues standing at the far end of the room, forming a line all around the wall.

Naomi didn't give us a single second to stare at the rooms as we walked through them, and she led us through the maze of hallways with a pace that was hard to match even without lollygagging. Abruptly, she stopped in front of a door that, unlike most of the others we passed, was not labeled. Naomi pushed the door open, and I blinked at the chaos that was happening inside.

"Okay, you," she pointed to Tamara, "go to station five, just over there to your right. And you, Ashley, head over to seven—the one with a giant '7' on the back, it's hard to miss."

Tamara and Ashley moved into the room at a brisk pace that I could only assume was brought on by Naomi's harsh voice. Naomi sighed, "you, Noah, go to… oh, perfect, six just opened up. Go there."

I moved into the room before I could hear her direct Sierra as to where to go, walking up to the chair that had a paper with the number six hanging from the back. There was woman standing just to the left of it, and she flashed me a grin when she saw me standing behind her.

"Well, hi there," she said, her accent apparent. I'd never met a southerner, but I knew that this woman was definitely from somewhere south. "Have a seat and we'll get goin' here."

I nodded, moving into the seat, I found myself staring face to face with the mirror in front of me. The woman came up behind me, staring at me through the reflection for what felt like the longest time before she gave a stiff nod, "alright. So I'm thinking we give your hair a real good chop—right down to here, you see, and then we pick out a dress from the racks and I'll match your makeup to that, sound good?"

I nod, looking at the placement of her hand that was meant to show me where how short my hair would be. Unbraided, it usually fell somewhere near my hips, but this woman was wanting to cut it down to my shoulders, even a little shorter than that. I didn't object, but the thought still made me nervous.

"Right, then—head on over into the other room and let those other girls wash your hair and such," she said, pointing to a door to our left. I stood, already moving towards it, "come on back here when you're done."

When I pushed open the door, I was met by two girls who were rearranging shampoo bottles on a plastic organiser that hung from the wall. Both of them looked at me when I stepped in, and they took only a second to look me over before ushering me inside. The bathtub at the end of the room was in the process of filling with water, steaming up into the air. Bubble bath, or something, had been poured into it, as what seemed like a drastic amount of bubbles were floating on top of the water's surface.

Swallowed my modesty, something I felt like I'd have to do a lot if bath's were going to be like this for the duration of my stay there, I stripped and climbed into the tub, thankful for the bubbles when I did. The tub was short enough that one of the girls could tug my leg out of it without causing my head to sink under the water.

While one girl waxed my legs, a process that was foreign to me and hurt about as much as she forewarned it would, the other washed my hair. I was out of the room within ten minutes, newly dressed in the plush robe they'd had in there. I had no idea what they were planning on doing with the outfit I'd been wearing and that they'd forced me to leave in there, but I quickly forgot about it when the southern woman began cutting off chunks of my hair.

I closed my eyes for most of the haircut, but I was forced to open them when the woman spun my chair around and pulled me to my feet. She led me into yet another room that branched off of this one, only it was full of one thing—dresses. When the door was pushed open, suddenly all I could see was crinoline and fabric, of all colours.

There was a girl standing just inside the door, and she smiled at me, but hers looked just as forced as Naomi's had. "Name?"

"Noah Carins." I said.

She motioned for me to follow her with her finger, and she led me through the sea of racks and dresses until we got to the middle of it all. A metal rack with my name printed on it housed tens of dresses that ranged from as big and extravagant as a ballgown to as simple and elegant as a dinner dress, but all of them were more fancy than anything I'd ever seen. I gaped, watching as the girl riffled through them, talking while her hands moved.

"These are all of the dresses that your maids have made up to date. I'd say anything that looks something like this would go good for tonight," she said, "you guys are going for a classy evening look, so keep it elegant and fancy, but not—oh, honey, go with that one."

She pointed out one that hung from the back of the rack, and she reached out to grab it so I could get a better look. The top was a cream-coloured fabric covered by a lace made out of a colour that was a beautiful cross between lilac and blue, and the bottom was flowy, made out of only the lilac-blue colour. Separating the two halves was a ribbon that tied in the back in a bow, adding to the fact that the dress itself was backless where the cream and lace would have been.

I nodded, unable to say anything else. I took it from the woman's hands and heading back into the makeup room. The southern woman who'd been doing my hair took one look at the dress and then took it from my hands, laying it on the bench just beside her. I watched her every move when she held it, as though I was afraid she would break it. The dress looked too pretty for someone to break, I probably would have cried if she'd spilt anything on it.

Camera's moved about the room getting snapshots of the makeup process, but my eyes were closed for most of it, so I had no idea when the camera's had come by me. The southern woman brushed colours over my eyelids and lips and skin, and though I'd told her I didn't want an overwhelming amount of makeup, I wasn't expecting an au-naturel look either.

When she finished and told me to look, I opened my eyes and stared into the mirror. Looking back at me was a woman with lilac eyelids and perfect lashes, and skin that lacked any imperfection. She'd pulled my newly shortened hair up into a bun at the back of my head, leaving only two coiled strands up near my face. I whistled at the finished look, easily able to admit that right then, I looked beautiful.

"You like it?" The southern woman said, grinning ear to ear.

I nodded furiously, "It looks amazing."

"Good," she said, sighing heavily. She grabbed the dress from the bench that she'd put it on and told me to run and get changed behind one of the curtains at the back, and that's what I did. I made quick work of pulling off the robe and shrugging the dress on instead. I stepped out with the ribbon untied, asking one of the women nearby to help me with it. When she was done, I stepped over in front of the wall-sized mirror and shook my head at the girl who looked back.

A woman came over and asked me what size my feet were, and when I did, she left for a second or two. When she came back, she was holding cream coloured heels that I knew would cause me trouble walking in. Still, I slipped them into my feet and let out a breath.

I looked in the mirror again, and I felt breathless. I felt like exactly what my mother had called me. I felt like a princess.

When Tamara came into the drawing room, I felt like I'd been sitting there alone for ages. The moment her eyes met mine, she gave me a heart warming smile and started towards me.

She fell onto the couch beside me and let out a breath, grinning. I laughed, looking her over, "you look beautiful."

She looked down at the orangey-red dress that clung to her figure and smiled, "yeah? Thanks. You do, too."

All around us, there were girls sitting and sparking conversation with those around then. Sierra sat tucked away in the corner, talking to no one at all. She looked more like she was assessing every other girl in the room.

We'd been led into the room after our makeovers were finished, and now we were all just awaiting further instructions. It was a room full of girls who were dressed up, head to toe, for a ball, and I had yet to find out why.

The room was big enough that even when all 35 girls were sitting in it, it didn't feel crammed, but I found myself quickly growing bored while we waited. Tamara toyed with a curled strand of her hair, and just to the left of her, a girl was tracing the shadow casted by the sun on the couch.

When Naomi came into the room a few moments later, every head in the room whipped towards her like a switch had gone off. The woman looked unfazed by the sudden attention—if anything, she looked content with it. She made her way to the middle of the room, just in front of Tamara and I, and cleared her throat.

"Tonight, you girls will have a very busy evening." Naomi said, "first on our agenda is a tour, which we will be separating into groups for. After you're your is done you ladies will be led to the gardens, where the interviews for the _The Selection_ television program will be happening, and then just after that you will have dinner.

"The dinner is the reason that you ladies have been dressed up as you have. You will be dining in the dining hall with the Royal family this evening." The buzz that went through the room when Naomi said this was enough to drown out her words completely, "Each and every one of you must be on your best behavior. You will have an hour or so before dinner to have a small session with me of table manners, and then you will be led into the room. After dinner, we will go to the ballroom, where tonight's special episode of the _Capitol Report_ is being filmed."

Tamara leaned towards me, "That is a busy day."

"That is a nerve-wracking day," I countered, and she nodded.

While Naomi's silence lasted, the girls in the room faded into conversation yet again. I overheard most of them talking about the Prince, and how excited they were to finally meet him. Personally, I didn't feel excited so much as about to throw up.

Naomi separated the group into groups of seven based on where they were sitting in the room, meaning Tamara and I ended up in the same group. One by one, each group left the room, led by one of who I assumed were Naomi's disciples, as they all seemed to answer to her. Tamara and I trailed behind a man who walked much, much slower than Naomi had, which I was grateful for.

The palace really was more like a maze than anything else. I doubted that I would remember much from the tour, as the further we went, the more there was to remember. The grand staircase was the only one in the entire building that could get someone from the first floor to the fourth floor, all of the others interchanged between only two different floors at a time. The west wing, the guests wing, was more or less completely dedicated to us and the rest of the competitors in the Selection for the duration of our stay, aside from the fourth floor, which held the library and something else that I couldn't remember.

We were advised to just avoid the south wing's second and third floors completely, as one had the rooms of both Prince Roman and his younger sister Olivia were on the second, and above that were the chambers of the King and Queen. If we were ever caught sneaking around on either of those sections without reason, it would be grounds for immediate dismissal from the Selection, and maybe even worse.

The tour ended in the west wing, in which we were told to find our own rooms and then come back to meet our tour guide, who's name I'd already forgot, within ten minutes. Tamara and I went our separate ways then, running past and reading the names that were printed on each door.

Mine ended up being on the 1st floor, just a bend or two from the west exit, which led to the gardens. I had less than a problem with that, as I figured there would probably be times when I'd need to get air, or something of that sort. I pushed open the door to the room and felt a smile creep onto my face.

The bed that sat in the middle of the room was huge—big enough to fit three or four of the one that I slept in back home—and the room itself was even bigger. The walls were painted a soft grey that fit well with the black painted furniture that occupied the rest of the room. There was a small black leather couch in the corner of the room, placed just under the window. I moved to look out, smiling at the view of the roses and tulips that sat just across a small bit of grass. Just behind the flower bed, a line of tall, bushy tree's blocked my full view of the chaos that was happening just behind it, but I figured whatever it was had to do with _The Selection_ , the television program.

I left my room and ran back up the stairs to meet the group after I was done looking around, and when all of us were there, we moved down towards where I'd been before, out the West exit and into the gardens.

Someone had lain a carpet on the grass that begun just outside the door and continued on until the television set up that sat just in front of a bed of miscellaneous flowers that I couldn't name. there was a tent set up there, as well, with tens of chairs under it that I supposed were for us.

Tamara and I walked side by side on the carpet—something that I quickly became grateful for when I tried walking on the grass in my heeled shoes and nearly fell.

When we slid in two chairs under the tent, she counted the windows on the second floor and pointed her room out to me, "I think it's that one."

I laughed, confidently pointing at the first window next to the West doors, "Mine's there."

"First floor?" Tamara said, shivering, "I wouldn't be able to live with the first floor—and so close to the doors? No way. I'd demand a new one."

I frowned, looking back at the window, "why? What's wrong with it?"

"The rebels," Tamara said, dropping her voice as if even just mentioning them was a felony, "what if they ever got on the grounds? There are only four doors that they could choose, and your room is right next to one."

I snorted, but I couldn't deny the slight bit of fear that hit me after she finished speaking. Still, I brushed it off, "It'll be fine, because the rebels won't get in."

Tamara shrugged, but she had nothing left to say on the matter.

Slowly, girls began making their way out under the tent and filling up the seats under it. I saw the host of the show come out of the palace soon after, the woman who was dressed in her signature black dress and heels. She took a seat in one of the two chairs that sat just in front of the camera that was just in front of us.

The director turned back to us and looked down at the paper in his hands, "Alright, girls. This part isn't live, but it'd still do you good not to mess up. Call it practise for the Report tonight, which, might I remind you, _is_ live. First up is Quinn Bealtey."

One by one, the director called girls up out of their seat so that they could move and sit next to the host, who's name I still didn't know. I listened carefully to the questions she asked—thought they were different each time, they revolved around the same overall things. _Are you excited to be at the Palace? What's your favorite part so far? Have you met the prince? When are you meeting the prince?_

When it was time for me, I stood and made my way over, sitting across from the host in the leather chair they'd had out. She smiled at me, and I offered a smile back. Her voice sounded a little different in person than it did on T.V., but that probably could have been blamed on my televisions speakers at home.

"So, Noah, how are you doing today?" She asked, crossing her legs.

I smiled, "I'm going good, thanks. It's been a fun day."

The answer had been rehearsed more than a few times while I'd been waiting for my turn underneath the tent.

"That's good to hear," she said, leaning forwards a little, "so, tell me, it must be a little strange for you, right? Going from the apartment you lived in before as a Six, to here?"

She waved her arms at our surroundings, and I nodded slowly. I felt like how I had when Mrs. King had accidentally backhanded me with her comment, but this felt more like I was being singled out than undermined. I took a breath, choosing my words carefully, "It is a little weird. I haven't been here that long, obviously, but I'm really excited to be here and living in this beautiful palace. It's definitely not something I thought I would have been doing a month ago."

"I bet," the host said, laughing, "and, of course, seeing Prince Roman probably ups the scale of the place, too, eh?"

I hesitated, and I knew that that was my mistake. The host's eyebrow twitched up, and I scrambled for something to say. "Yeah, sure. Uh, I mean, it's his house, so of course he'll be here."

"Right," she said, pausing, "are you looking forward to meeting him tonight?"

I swallowed. I knew what I was supposed to say to that, but the answer that I actually had was much, much different. I settled for a half-truth. "I'm nervous about it, but I'm really excited for the food."

The host laughed, "that's right, you're meeting him over dinner, aren't you?"

I nod, and she laughs again, though I couldn't see why it was funny. She looked back at the director, and then at me, "well, thanks for talking with me Noah, is was great to meet you."

"Yeah, you too." I said before standing and making my way back to the tent.

I slid onto my seat beside Tamara and dropped my face into my hand, careful not to touch any of my eye makeup while I did. Tamara stifled a laugh, trying hard to hold it back, "It was really good, aside from that one part where you said 'it's his house, so he'll be here too'. You sounded kind of… well, I don't know, but it wasn't good."

"Oh, hush."


	7. Chapter 7

p class="MsoNormal"When Naomi's lesson on politeness and manners ended, I felt a lot more educated in the proper usage of forks and knives that I probably needed to be. Before we'd walked into the dining room and were shown the seats that we would take when the real dinner began, I thought all I needed to know was that you use a knife to cut the food, a fork to eat it, and a spoon if said food goes right through the gapes in the fork./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Sitting in front of us in the dining room, however, were more than just a single fork, spoon and knife. There was an entire cutlery drawer surrounding the empty plate that sat in front of me. There were three spoons and two forks and two knives, and even if they were different sizes, I didn't see how that mattered./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Naomi spent almost an hour showing us which utensil to use on which occasion, and how to hold a steak knife without looking like a serial killer. During every moment of her lesson, I would have much rather have been doing anything else, but my prayers went unanswered until the watch she wore on her wrist beeped, and she was abruptly forced to stop talking about napkins./p  
p class="MsoNormal"She waved for us all to follow her as she left the room and that's exactly what we did, leaving in the same two neat lines that we'd came in in. The room was arranged with two long tables across the lengths of the room, and one shorter one at the far end of them—it made a sort of U, though none of the tables actually touched each other./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Naomi had told us that the Royal family would sit at the smaller table, and that none of us were supposed to speak to them unless one of them spoke to us first. That meant that if I thought the King had a rad bow-tie, I couldn't tell him unless he asked me how is bow-tie looked—though Naomi had also asked us to avoid words that could be categorized as slang./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Naomi led us back through the hallways towards the drawing room, and I realized I was beginning to memorize certain paths through the palace. I could remember how to get from the drawing room to my room easily enough—there was only two turns and two a single flight of stairs to worry about. And if I tried really hard, I could probably figure out my way from the entrance to the drawing room, though it might be a trial and error approach./p  
p class="MsoNormal"When we filed into the room, Tamara found me easily enough, and we both took a seat next to the window, watching all of the others come in and find their seats. We didn't know how long we'd be in there for, but we did know what would be happening when we left—we'd go into the dining room yet again, only then, we would meet the Royal family./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Tamara turned and looked at me, touching at her hair, "is anything out of place? Does it look okay?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal""You still look beautiful," I told her, laughing. I didn't bother asking her about my own hair—partly because I wasn't looking for the Prince's approval, and partly because I'd seen my reflection in a window while we'd been walking./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I recognised Ashley when she wandered into the room, and I watched her beeline towards a girl who sat in the corner. Ashley seemed nice enough, though she'd been quiet and hadn't spoke much to Tamara or I on the flight here. I didn't know what to make of Sierra—she had been kind of rude before, but she hadn't been trying very hard to make any friends here, either. I figured she was just very into the competition, and so I took no offense to her brush off at the airport./p  
p class="MsoNormal"One girl came into the room and sat alone on one of the chairs, and when the door closed, signalling that everyone was in here, she stayed that way. I'd never considered myself a friendly person—I'd always been more of a stick-to-the-shadows kind of girl, actually—but something about the Selection had given me a confidence that I actually really enjoyed. I figured it'd came with the fact that everyone I'd known back home had begun treating me like royalty, but that didn't matter to me right then. I told Tamara I'd be right back, and then I stood and walked over to the girl on the chair./p  
p class="MsoNormal"She had dark brown skin that the blue dress she wore complimented great, and when I stopped in front of her, she looked up at me and blinked, surprised. I held out my hand for her to shake, smiling. "Hi. I'm Noah."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"She smiled back, shaking my outstretched hand. "I'm Yvette."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""Do you want to come sit with us?" I asked, pointing back to Tamara, who still sat beside the window. When she saw us looking over, she smiled and waved./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Yvette hesitated, but eventually nodded. I made my way back over to sit beside Tamara, and Yvette stood beside us, leaning against the wall despite the fact there was room on the other side of me. She swallowed, looking over at Tamara, "You're Tamara French, right?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal""Yep," she said, smiling, "and you're Yvette Lewis."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Yvette nodded, not offering much else. I opened my mouth to try and initiate an actual conversation, but Naomi came back into the room just then and ushered everybody back into a line. Tamara went and stood between the two girls she would sit beside in the dining hall, and I did as well. I hadn't yet learnt their names, but one of them had seemed overly focused on Naomi's cutlery lesson while we were down there, and the other had seemed entirely too focused on biting her nails. That was about the extent of what I knew about them./p  
p class="MsoNormal"We made our way back downstairs and stood against the wall just outside the dining hall, watching as Naomi went and pulled the doors opened, dropping into a light bow. I heard her words just barely, considering I was so far down the line. "Your majesties, might I present to you the ladies of Prince Roman's Selection."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"That was the cue that Naomi had rehearsed with us, and one by one, we filed into the room, everyone curtseying when they got just inside the doorway. By the time it got down to me, I was surprised I didn't so much as stumble as I made my was down the room towards my seat. I didn't tempt fate by looking up at the Royal family just yet, though—I waited until I was sitting down and unable to trip over my feet./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I was sitting only six or so people down from them, but even that felt too close. Closest to our table was the Princess Olivia Séear, who seemed to be looking at us just as curiously as we were all looking at them. She was barely twelve, but from what I'd read, she packed as much sass as any of the girls at the table I sat at, if not more. Just beside her was her older brother, the man of the hour./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Even I had to admit that Prince Roman Séear looked good, but I wasn't surprised. He looked good on my tiny television screen at home, but in person, he looked so much better. Unlike the rest of his family, he was standing, smiling down at the 35 guests before him. His jaw was sharp, and his hair, like his sisters, was jet black, though it didn't tone down the tanned skin whatsoever. Their mother had moved to Allens from Panama when she was just a young girl, and that heritage showed through on his children's skin well. People from Panama usually had tanned skin./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Still, something in the way he stood made me quiver. He stood with power and presence, and all of the girls at the tables before him looked fragile in comparison. I felt sick again, thinking about all of the things that could go wrong during this competition, thinking about the man that'd told me not to say no./p  
p class="MsoNormal""I'd like to personally welcome you all to the palace," he said, "we're very grateful that you've all come to join us, and I'm looking forward to meeting you all. Enjoy your dinner this evening."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Food was brought out on plates by waiters that seemed to move completely in sync with one another. The Royal family was served first, and then all of the selected. When a plate was put in front of my, I felt my mouth water at the sight of it. Some kind of fish fillet had but put on top of salad in a way the mimicked art, and it looked delicious./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Dinner seemed to pass quickly, but it hadn't been the four-course meal I'd ben expecting. All that came after the salad and fish was desert, but I wasn't completely disappointed about it, either—I was full enough even without the sorbet. But in the end, I ate every last bite./p  
p class="MsoNormal"When I was shoving the last bit of it into my mouth, I watched as a person shuffled their way in front of me, and I looked up to see Prince Roman, watching me. I swallowed, feeling what felt like every drop of blood my body had draining. He'd come from my left, and I realized he must have been making rounds around the tables, and I'd been too absorbed in the desert to notice. To my right, the girl who'd been biting her nails in Naomi's lesson stifled a laugh./p  
p class="MsoNormal""Enjoying the food?" Roman remarked, smiling himself./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I swallowed again, only this time all I had in my mouth was air. After a second or two of gathering my wits, I'd come up with a response, deciding I wasn't about to stumble around him like an idiot. I was sure all of these other girls would be talking to him as though he was a dream, incorporating big, smart words into their sentences and trying very hard to impress him. I decided not to do that. "I dreamed of ice cream, but I honestly never thought this was how it would taste."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""You've never had ice cream?" He said, frowning./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I shook my head, "I have not."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"He hesitated, looking down at my plate and laughing. "Could it really be so much worse than what you imagined if you ate all of it, thought?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I frowned, "It's actually a lot better than I thought it'd be."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""Oh, good," he said, looking over at the girl who sat on the other side of me. "Before I move on I feel like I should let you know there's a bit of ice cream on your chin."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I looked up at him and frowned, picking the napkin up off of the table and wiping at across my chin. When I pulled it away, there was a cream-coloured stain on it's surface. I frowned, "I feel like that's the kind of thing you say when you first step over, not after you've finished talking to someone."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"He shuffled over so he was standing in front of the girl beside me, but he was still talking to me when he said, "but that's so much less funny."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Prince Roman made his way down our table, and then onto the next, and by the time he stepped away from the last girl at the table across from us, I sighed with relief. The girl beside me who'd been biting her nails leaned over and told me that 'sighing' wasn't very lady like, and I did nothing but give her a look./p  
p class="MsoNormal"When Naomi came back into the room and waved for us all to leave the room, everyone stood as a bunch and dropped into a curtsey before following our respective lines out the door. Once again, I kept my eyes on my feet to be sure I didn't trip over the bottom of my dress, but unlike when we'd come in, I felt a desire to look up at Prince Roman when we left. In the end, I didn't do it, but while we were walking down the hallway towards wherever Naomi was leading us to, I couldn't help but wish I had./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I still felt anger and all of those other negative emotions when I thought of the prince, thinking of how good he's had it all his life, and how much he takes it for granted. But I hadn't thought someone raised like he'd been would have had a sense of humor, and considering what I'd seen so far, he did. It was either that or he was a bully who enjoyed making fun of me, but for some reason I didn't think it was that./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Naomi led us down the maze of hallways into a corridor I hadn't seen before—I knew it was a new one because it suddenly got five feet wider than all of the others, and there was only one single door to the left, and it was as tall as three of me would have been, and made entirely of chizzled glass. I couldn't see what was going on on the other side of it, but I could hear voices./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Naomi pushed open the doors and stepped aside so we could head in. There were tens of rows of chairs set up in front of a stage, all of which except for two rows at the front were occupied. On the stage, there was nothing but an arm chair and a two-person couch, and sitting in the arm chair was Gavril, the host of the Report./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Tamara came up beside me and let out a breath, "this is so cool. Everyone is going to be so jealous back home."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I snorted, "Everyone back home probably started being jealous the moment your name was announced on this show, and I doubt anyone's stopped since."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""True," Tamara said, laughing./p  
p class="MsoNormal"One by one, we claimed our seats at the front of the audience, only to rise to our feet again when Prince Roman and his sister walked in the room from the same doors we'd come in through only moments before. Their parents weren't with them this time, but I knew they'd probably be watching from a television somewhere in the castle, just like I knew my mom was watching from home./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Roman took a seat on one half of the couch, and his sister sat down in the audience, taking an empty seat next to one of the girls in the Selection. I don't think Olivia noticed how much the girl seemed to be freaking out knowing the Princess was sitting beside her./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Gavril said some words to the Prince, but he piped shut pretty quickly when the director at the back of the room began counting down from 5. When he yelled one and went quiet, Gavril spoke up only a second after, "Ladies and gentlemen welcome to this very special episode of the Capitol Report. I've bene bragging about this day for weeks, because I have sitting before me the 35 girls who have become Illéa's dearest—well, after Princess Olivia, of course."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"There was laughing from the audience behind me, but I felt too many nerves prickling at my skin to laugh./p  
p class="MsoNormal""I'm also joined by Prince Roman," Gavril continued, looking over at the boy who sat on the couch, "now, tell me Roman, how's the turn out looking so far?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Roman laughed, "I think it looks good. They all seem really nice, and they're definitely all gorgeous girls, so I'm a lucky guy."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Tamara let out a breath that sounded more like a squeak, "I think I might faint."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""Do it after they call you up," I told her, and she nodded./p  
p class="MsoNormal""Yes, I bet," Gavril laughed. "Nothing interesting to tell Illéa so far?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal"The Prince clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "We're only a few hours into this thing, and nothing bizarre or really worth mentioning had happened."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""Well," Gavril said, crossing one leg over the other, "we might as well just get right into this then, shouldn't we? Let's start the evening off with a lady that's come all the way from the north—Miss Caroline Garetts of Whites."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"A girl who sat somewhere in the middle of the group stood, making her way up onto the stage and taking a seat next to Prince Roman. The Prince smiled at her while she sat down, and she smiled back, but that was the extent of their interaction before they both turned their attention towards Gavril./p  
p class="MsoNormal""You look stunning, Caroline. I can see what this boy was talking about before," Gavril laughed, as did the audience. "Tell me, have you seen your room? Is it to die for?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Caroline gushed about her room and the palace, and about how lucky she felt to be here, as did the five girls that were called up right after her. Gavril picked new questions each time, but much like outside in the gardens earlier, they were all pretty much the same. When I heard my name called, I moved up onto the stage confidently, despite my screw up on camera from earlier that day./p  
p class="MsoNormal""Noah," Gavril said, leaning forwards in his chair, "you seem like a confident girl, you've got a powerful name, so tell me, is any of this intimidating to you? This new home, these new clothes—this Prince Charming over here."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I smiled, looking over at Prince Roman, who was looking right back at me. I met his eyes an saw the smirk behind them, and I wondered if he was thinking about me with ice cream on my chin. "It is a little bit—more the attention than anything else though."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""The attention?" Gavril said, pausing to look down at the notebook he kept on the arm of the chair, "That's right—you come from a family of Sixed don't you? So that transition must be really tough."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I nodded slowly, only slightly beginning to get irritated by all of the chat about my being a Six. I felt like they were saying it just to rank me below the others. Still, I took a breath and responded, "It's actually a lot easier than I thought it'd be. Who knew it'd be easy to wear nice clothes and eat good food?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Prince Roman let out a small, almost undetectable laugh from beside me, but he stayed quiet for the most part. Gavril spared a glance his way, but nothing more. He laughed, "That's true. Noah, can you tell me a bit about your life back home in Allens?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal""I..." I paused, frowning, "I live with my mom, it's just me and her, and I work as a maid for a family of three's that live across town. There's not really a whole lot else."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""Just you and your mom?" Gavril said, and my frown deepened. I wasn't sure how much my mom would be comfortable with me saying on live T.V. about her and having children, and I wasn't sure how comfortable I'd have been if he brought up the subject. "Don't Six families usually have a lot more kids in them then that? And your father, where's he?"/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I swallowed, toying with my thumbs on my lab. "I guess I was just too much to handle as a kid. And my dad… he died when I was two."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""I'm sorry to hear that, Noah," Gavril said, shaking his head. He turned back to look at his notebook and continued, "while, thank you for talking with me today it'd been lovely meeting you."/p  
p class="MsoNormal""You as well," I said, climbing down the stage while he called up another girl./p  
p class="MsoNormal"When I sat down next to Tamara again, I had tears of frustration in my eyes. I'd never seen myself as a weak individual, and yet I was beginning to feel like that was all these T.V. shows were portraying me as. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly as if it would block the tears from spilling. When I opened them again, I looked up at the stage and saw that Roman was paying no attention to the girl on his left, he was staring at me./p  
p class="MsoNormal" /p  
p class="MsoNormal" /p 


	8. Chapter 8

My first night in the castle had felt like heaven. The sheets on my bed were made of fine satin, and the duvet of a cotton so soft and warm I thought my skin was undeserving of feeling it. I'd had maid's take my dress away when I changed into the nightgown that'd been provided—they wanted to help me, but I told them I'd been changing my own clothes for years and didn't need any aid.

I slept the night away without so much as stirring, and when Penelope, one of the maids, came in in the morning to wake me up, I wanted nothing more than to keep sleeping.

Still, Penelope insisted I wake up, and eventually I did. I sat up and stretched my arms high above my head, yawning. When I looked over at her, I saw that she had an awkward smile on her face, and in her hands was a hairbrush that wasn't my own.

"I have my own hairbrush," I said, pointing to my bag. When I'd come into my room after _the Report,_ it's been sitting on the chair of the make-up table.

"They bought you one," Penelope said, shrugging. "Now we have to make quick work of getting you ready today—breakfast is in just a half hour."

I sighed, climbing out of bed. Penelope latched her hands onto my shoulders and pushed me towards the makeup table. She took my bag and dropped it on the floor by my bed, ushering me to sit where it had been. When I slid onto the wooden chair, she started untangling my hair with the brush she'd been holding.

It took no time at all for Penelope to brush my hair, when it had usually taken me ages before. Then again, before I'd had more than two feet of hair, and now I had only a fraction of it. I reached up and touched the ends of it when she was done. It fell just under the line of my shoulders.

"What would you like to wear today, Miss?" Penelope asked, walking across the room and pulling open a closet that seemed ten times bigger than what could have been necessary. Still, when she pulled open the sliding wooden doors, fabric and crinoline spilled out like springs. "I'm thinking just a casual dress will do, but still fancy enough that you're catching eyes."

"You pick," I said, spinning on my chair and watching her smile and look through the options. All of the dresses that were there seemed beautiful—she could have closed her eyes and picked one and I would have been happy with it.

Penelope ended up pulling out a red number that I looked at with skepticism. The dress itself was gorgeous, but I'd never been a fan of myself in red. Still I slipped it on and turned to her to do up the zipper on the back. When I turned around and looked in the mirror, I was pleasantly surprised with what I saw. The red was so deep and so nice that it complemented my pale skin instead of the alternative.

It was long, though unlike the dress I'd worn last night, this one fell straight down without any poof whatsoever. It had long sleeves that ended three-quarters of the way down my arm, and a neckline that rose as far as my collar boned. It was modest, a look that I doubted many of the other girls would have been going for.

Last night, there'd been an array of dresses that ranged from short and simple to big and bejewelled, but many of them had been dangerously low cut. I wondered if some of these girls were aiming to be Romans personal doll rather than wife.

"That looks so elegant," Penelope breathed, clapping. She couldn't hold back her smile, "I approve."

I laughed, nodding softly, "alright. I'm good to go, I guess."

Penelope made me wait until she could put a few coats of mascara and eyeshadow onto my skin before I made my way down to the dining room, but I didn't protest. When I finally left my room, I was surprised to find that I knew exactly where I was going. The route from the dining room to my bedroom had somehow mapped it's way out in my brain, and it took me only a few minutes until I was standing outside of the open doorway.

The only people in the room were girls of the selection. There had to have only been half of the girls in the room so far, but almost all of them were sitting and looking bored with the lack of things to do. I found my way to my seat and frowned at the little card that'd been put in front of my plate. My name was printed on the small white piece of folded paper, in cursive letters that seemed entirely too fancy.

When I slide into my seat, I noticed the camera that was set up in the corner of the room. Naomi stood just beside it, talking to a man who I assumed was the director.

The girl to my left—the one with the nasty habit of biting her nails—was already sitting when I made my way over. After a moment or two of silence, I looked over and smiled, "I'm Noah."

"I know." She said, pointing to the white card in front of me, "It says so right there."

I frowned, feeling her hostility. I turned back to facing in front of me, but not before reading the card that sat in front of her—Harriet Fordes. Obviously, Harriet was not looking to make friends.

One by one, girls flooded into the room and took their seats, and when only one empty spot remained, Naomi started talking, her voice echoing across the walls of the room. "This is going to be televised, so please be on your best behavior. When the Royal family enters, you will all stand, curtsey, and take your seats _only_ after they have. Understood?"

There was a wave of 'yes' that went around the room, and Naomi seemed satisfied with this. The man with the camera took the device off of the stand and mounted it onto his shoulder, ready to film the royal entrance.

The last girl sauntered in just on time, running into her seat and falling back just a few moments before the King and Queen came in, followed by Prince Roman and Princess Olivia. Every girl in the room rose to their feet and dropped into a low curtsey, waiting until all four of them took their seats before we did.

The Prince didn't start off with a speech as he had for dinner, and instead the food was brought in right away. I had no protest to this—my stomach felt as though it was going to start growling any second.

The plates were towered with bacon and tarts and hash browns arranged in such a way it felt wrong to pick at it. Every time I took a bite, I felt a wave of guilt and pleasure when I tasted the food. The chef's at the palace had a talent, that much had become clear quite quickly.

Prince Roman didn't make rounds like he did the night before, either. The entire breakfast, though delicious and enjoyable, felt awkward and quiet. The girls talked in whispers, as though they were afraid of being heard. The king and queen conversed by themselves, but from the way they'd both look up and zero in on one girl at a time, I figured they were talking about us.

When everyone was finished, we left and found ourselves in the drawing room. Naomi told us we had an hour or so of free time, and that we could spend it doing whatever we wanted, as long as we stayed out of the North wing and didn't bother the staff. Tamara and Yvette decided to stay in the drawing room and watch television, but a need for fresh air made me make my way back to the West wing and head out into the gardens.

The sun was bright above me, and I could feel the heat of it on my shoulders. Knowing I'd always been the type to burn under too much sun, I told myself I couldn't spend more than twenty minutes outside, unless I ran back into my room and asked a maid to get me sunblock.

The gardens were arranged in such a way that it looked both beautiful and elegant. There were marble statues every so often, and just beyond the line of hedges that the tent had been set up next to the day before, there was a man-made pond that stretched out in a long rectangle. In the middle of it there was a bridge, crafted with an iron railing that matched both the window fixtures of the palace and the front gate, entwining in little black vines.

I'd been so focused on the layout that I almost didn't see the girl that was kicking her feet in the pond only a few feet away. I could only see the back of her head just then, but the long black locks gave her identity away—that, and the tiara that sat on top of them.

Olivia had lifted her dress so as not to get the ends wet while she swirled her feet around in the blue water below her. The bond was lined with stone of some sort, and so didn't look too worried about getting dirty. A twig must have snapped under my feet or something, because her head whipped around and her eyes landed on me.

"Oh," I said, forcing a smile. "Hi."

"Hi," she said, eying me with interest. She turned her head back towards the pond, but she didn't look nearly as relaxed as she had before. She looked tense.

I cleared my throat, making my way around the bushes of flowers that blocked me from her, I stopped only when I stood beside her. With skepticism, I pointed towards the water, in which I couldn't see the bottom. "Are there, like, fish in there? Because I don't want to put my feet in that if there's fish in there."

She snorted, pointing out at the other end of it, where lily pads and rocks lined the edge. "They swim over there, usually."

"So, none are going to, like, touch my feet?" I said, and she laughed. I smiled, moving to sit next to her, I pulled the end of my dress up to my knee's and let my calves soak in the water. It was cold compared to the air around us, but not cold in the way that it was uncomfortable. I let my eyes close, and my face look up towards the sun. "This is relaxing. I might have to steal this spot from you every now and then."

"It's not really my spot," Olivia said, "my parents actually hate it when I come out here."

I frowned, opening my eyes and looking down at her. She was toying with a strand of her hair while she spoke. "They say it's too close to the wall, and there aren't enough guards out here."

I nodded, understanding, "They're worried about the rebels."

Olivia nodded her head, looking up at the wall. From our spot, we could only see the top of the stone blockade—the rest was hidden behind shrubs and tree's and whatever else the gardens had. Olivia looked over at me, then, "What's your name?"

"Noah," I said, "and should I be calling you Princess or your majesty?"

She chuckled, "Olivia works fine."

"I feel like Naomi will have my head if she hears me calling you by only your first name." I said, picturing the woman and her lesson on etiquette. She'd told us over and over again that titles were a must—that we _must_ always address the royal family with their titles.

"Yes, but some how I think she won't be able to get angry if I say it's alright," Olivia said, laughing, "I'm somewhat certain I outrank her."

I snort, "Maybe just a little."

We were quiet for a minute after that, and all that could be heard was the sound of birds mixed with the sound of Olivia's feet swirling around in the water. I leaned back and let my weight wall onto my elbows, enjoying the sun and the relaxation. My thoughts travelled back to home, where I'd have been cooped up indoors all day scrubbing the mud off the floors of the King's house.

I lifted my feet up out of the water and stood, shaking the water off of one foot and then the other before I slid my feet back into the low heels that Penelope had picked out for me that morning. Olivia watched me closely, "Are you leaving?"

"I was just going to ask you if you wanted to show me those fish," I said, pointing off in the direction of the rocks and lily pads.

She paused, letting out a breath before she stood and picked up her shoes. She didn't bother putting them on like I had. "Alright."

I followed her over to the other side of the pond. She dropped her shoes close to the edge of it and peered into the water—unlike the other end, it was easy to see the bottom here. Catfish roamed the water, swimming back and forth under the surface. I grimaced, "I hate fish."

"You hate fish?" Olivia repeated, looking into the water, "Why? They're harmless."

"Yeah, but, I mean," I shuddered, "they have such beady eyes, and they're so weird."

Olivia laughed, "If you're scared of fish, then, as much as I hate to say it, I don't know how good of a Queen you'd make."

"Why? Is there lots of fishing involved in the job?" I said, holding back a smile. Somehow, I doubted Queen Tiana would have spent a lot of time fishing on a boat.

Olivia grinned, "No, but there's probably a lot of things more frightening than fish."

"You're probably right," I said, nodding, "I guess it's a good thing I don't want to be queen then."

As soon as I said it, I wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. Technically this girl was the Princess, and the sister of the boy who I was supposed to be wanting to marry. Still, when Olivia looked up at me, I didn't see any sort of judgement, I saw a face on the brink of laugher.

Olivia snickered, "Finally, someone with sense! I've been wracking my mind as to how there are 35 girls in this palace right now who want to marry _my brother._ I mean, he's _Roman._ I don't see how anyone would want to marry him."

I laughed, about to respond when I heard yelling coming from the other end of the pond. The king stood beside one of the palace guards, looking at Olivia and I. I couldn't see his expression, and I hadn't heard what he said, but whatever it was made Olivia grimace. Slowly, she slipped her shoes back onto her feet and flashed my a toothy smile, "It was nice meeting you, Noah."

"You too," I said, watching her run back towards her father.

The king draped an arm over her when she ran up beside him, and the guard followed the two of them out of the gardens. I stayed outside for only a moment longer, staring into the pond at the fish that swam inside it, before I started inside as well. I tried to look back at my shoulders to see if they were burnt, but as far as I could tell they were fine. Still pale and not even tinted red.

I made my way back towards the drawing room, but as I was maneuvering my way through the halls, I stopped just shy of one of the corners. I heard squealing coming from that hallway, and it was more the excited kind than the afraid. I frowned, turning and continuing to walk anyways. I kept my shock free of my face when I walked right passed the prince, in the midst of kissing one of the girls. It took a second glance to recognise her as the girl who'd been late that morning, and I wondered if she'd been late then because she was up to the same thing as she was then.

I knew they'd both seen me, because as I continued down the hall without giving either of them my time of day, I heard the girls squealing stop, and whispering fill the air instead.

There'd been a moment yesterday when I thought that maybe the Prince wasn't all the negative things I thought he was, but I knew now that he was. If he thought himself above the law that he was meant to enforce—the one that protected unmarried girls from lusty-eyed men—he wasn't fit to rule a country. I felt dirty even being a part of his selection, if it meant I was to be grouped with women with so little self-respect as to throw themselves at him like that so easily. It was only the second day!

I kept what I'd seen to myself when I came into the drawing room and took a seat next to Yvette and Tamara. The two of them were in control of the T.V. remote, I gathered, as it sat on Tamara's lap. All around the room, girls had their heads turned towards the screen, where a re-run of _The Selection_ was playing just for those who'd missed it yesterday. My part had already gone and passed, but it made me feel a little lightheaded to know that the nation had gotten a second chance to watch me mumble and fumble for words.

When Naomi came into the room a little while later, she took only six girls with her when she left. Tamara and I shared a look of worry, and I turned to watch the door swing shut as the girls left.

Yvette didn't look very troubled by them being led away—in fact, she looked pleased. I moved a little closer to her and frowned, "Do you know where they're going?"

"They've probably been dismissed." Yvette said, smiling smugly. "That's six less competitors for us, though, right?"

"But it's only been a day," Tamara mumbled, looking back at the door with distress. "He can know for sure that he won't like those girls after having _barely_ talked with them?"

Yvette shrugged, "You've never seen a guy and just known he wasn't your type?"

I laughed, but I sobered quickly. Six girls were having their dreams crushed right then, and it was not the time to be laughing. I turned to Tamara, "She's got a point."

The room got quiet when Naomi came back alone, and no one needed her to explain what had happened to the other girls. Everyone knew then—we were down to 29.

I didn't know any of the girl's that the Prince had dismissed, but I still felt bad for them. By the end of the day, they'd be gone, having only gotten one night in the palace, two meals and one conversation with the Prince.

But, then again, a small part of me wished Roman had sent me home with them.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER** ** _NINE_**

When the sun drifted down until it was no longer visible above the waterline. I watched it set through the window of my bedroom. Naomi had told us that we had the whole afternoon to ourselves, after we'd finished a particularly boring lesson in geography. I understood that whoever became Queen would need to know the capital city of every province and the named of every foreign leader, but what about the other 28 of us to whom this knowledge would become useless after the Selection?

Dinner was scheduled for 7 o'clock sharp, and so at 6:30, all three of my maids came bustling into my room with smiles as big as they could ever be. I'd been planning on going in the dress that I'd been wearing all day, but Francine told me that that would not be right.

Francine, Penelope and Hannah seemed like nice enough girls to me. I'd met them only late last night, but even if I'd been tired and had passed out roughly ten minutes after they introduced themselves, my first impression of the three of them had been good. None of them were particularly old—the oldest of them would have likely been Francine, and she barely looked a day over 25, and they seemed kind enough that I thought we'd get along fine for however long I was there.

I told Penelope to pick out a dress for me again while I sat at the makeup table watching. The three of them ended up selecting three different dresses, none of them agreeing with the others. I laughed—while I might have been getting along with all of them fine, it seemed they didn't get alone with each other as well.

In the end, I sported Hannah's pick. It was royal blue, and I thought that must have been the reason for why I'd picked it. Royal blue had always been my favorite colour.

I watched them in the mirror while they pocked and prodded at my hair, trying to do something with it. Hannah criticised the stylist for cutting it as it did—she claimed it made it impossible to do an up-do with it. I left the room with my hair all pinned up, and Hannah's claim was proved wrong.

When I waltzed into the dinner room, I wasn't surprised to see the cameraman there again. Breakfast had been dull, and I figured it wouldn't make for good television, so he came back to get better footage of dinner instead.

Roman gave another short speech, in which he said he'd hoped everyone had a magnificent day, and that we all enjoyed our meal. I'd been too busy eying the doors for when the food would come out to pay attention to his words.

When the waiters finally emerged, they were carrying plated of chicken and greens, and I scarfed down every bite. I was careful to keep my eyes up this time, knowing that there would be a camera circling, and that I probably wouldn't have wanted it to catch me with sauce running down my chin.

Roman did his circle of the room again after dessert had been served, only this time he started from the other end. I watched his movements carefully while I picked at the cake that'd been placed before me, and when he was a few girls away from me, I dabbed at my mouth with a napkin just to be sure there wouldn't be a repeat of the night before.

I did my best no to eavesdrop on the conversation he had with the girl beside me, but when he stepped in front of me, he got my full attention. He smirked, "Miss Carins, are you enjoying the dessert?"

"I am," I said, unable to look up and meet his eyes. All I could see in my head right then was the image of him pressing the skinny blonde girl up against the wall in the corridor.

He nodded, "and how was your first full day at the palace?"

I paused, "Eventful."

"Eventful," he repeated, hesitating. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

I could hear the humor in his tone, and I knew he knew it'd been me who walked passed him. I cleared my throat, finally bringing my eyes up to meet his, "Not as much as you did, your highness."

He barked out a laugh that drew the attention of every girl within a four-seat radius of us. He sobered and flashed a toothy grin, "Somehow I get the feeling it'd have been much more fun to spend the day with you."

I swallowed, my cheeks burning red, half out of embarrassment and half out of anger. "Somehow I get the feeling that'd only happen in your dreams."

The girl beside me gasped, but I ignored her, as did the Prince. We hadn't yet attracted the attention of the camera, or his parents, but out of the corner of my eye I could see his sister watching us very closely. I turned my attention away from Roman and offered the youngest Séear a wave, and she smiled back at me.

Roman turned to look at who'd taken my attention away from him, and he frowned, "Making friends with my little sister? Interesting tactic."

"Tactic?" I said, scowling, "your highness, I feel I must tell you that while there are undoubtedly a number of women here who will throw themselves at you and dedicate every move towards earning your heart, I will not. I plan on enjoying myself while I'm here, not focussing on a prize I don't even want to collect."

He laughed, looking down at me with humor-filled eyes. The camera made it's way towards us, and I watched as his entire demeaner changed. He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, and he even went as far as to bow at me before he said, "It's been a pleasure talking to you, Miss Carins."

I blinked, "And to you, your highness."

When the girls filed out of the room, Tamara wasted no time in running up to me in the hallway and fanning her face with her hand. I watched her with a frown, confused until she spoke. "That tension was heating that room faster than a fire would have."

I snorted, "It was anger-provoked, not the kind of tension your thinking of."

"Oh, please," Tamara laughed, " _all_ tension contains sexual tension, whether it derives from anger or not."

I rolled my eyes, but I didn't press on about it. When our group was making it's way up the stairs, Naomi suddenly brought it to a halt, and everyone stopped mid-step. I stood up on my the tips of my toes to try and see what the fuss was about, but all I could see was Naomi and a guard whispering on the staircase.

Suddenly, Naomi was pushing passed everyone and making her way to the other side of the group, clearing her throat, "Everyone is to keep up and follow me, please."

Tamara and I shared a look, both of us sensing the nerves that were radiating off of the event planner. She stopped in front of a closed door and pushed it open running inside. Tamara and I were the closest behind her and both of us watched the woman search through a bookcase inside.

"Uh, Mrs. Richards?" Tamara said, but she was shushed when she finished the words. Naomi lifted her finger to one of the paperbacks and lightly pulled back on it. There was the sound of gears shifting, and unoiled metal moving, and suddenly the bookcase shifted to the left, moving painfully slow. Tamara and I looked at one another with shock.

"Inside, now, please," Naomi said.

I peered around the space that the bookcase had revealed and scowled. It was a narrow corridor with brick walls and unlit torches, and I could see nothing inside but darkness. When no one moved, Naomi cursed, which made my eyes widen.

"It's just _dark_ , now go." Naomi said.

Tamara was the first to go in, and I trailed behind her. She felt her way along the corridor my sliding her fingers on the brick walls, and I did the same. When the hallways stopped, I could no longer see as far as my own hands in front of my face, but I kept moving. My feet shuffled across the floor into what I assumed was a big room—I could no longer feel the walls, and I felt lost.

Without any clue as to what was going on, I felt my heart clench in fear. From behind me, I heard the squeak of more unoiled gears, and suddenly light poured in from another doorway just behind me. I blinked, watching as Prince Roman and his sister came into the room. I met his eyes, expecting him to say something harsh or rude, but I was surprised when he came over and swallowed.

His eyes trailed around the room, but his words were directed to me. I wondered if my fear showed on my face, and that was why he came over. "Rebels are attacking on the south end of the property. They haven't gotten onto the grounds, but this is only a precaution unless they do."

I nodded, watching as other girls looked over and saw him standing inside. Roman pulled out a lighter just as the door he'd come through closed, and he lit it. The flame illuminated his face as he went around and was lighting the torches that were poking out of the walls. Olivia stayed standing next to me.

Roman stopped a few times in between torches to enlighten others on what was going on. Some girls were shocked, others looked as though they'd been expecting it—like it was just a matter of time. When Naomi came into the room and saw that the Prince and Princess had joined us, she sent a little wave Olivia's way.

The princess waved back, but she turned back to me soon after.

"Are you scared of the dark, too?" She said, smiling up at me.

I frowned, "Why?"

"You looked terrified when we came in." She said, holding back a laugh.

I groaned, turning to watch as the last of the girls came into the room, followed by Naomi. The room itself wasn't as basement-like as I'd been expecting. The walls were covered in wallpaper, and there were couches and chairs towards one end of the room. There was a radio sitting on a table next to them, but no one moved to turn it on.

Roman had stopped walking to talk to a few girls towards one of the corners, and Olivia and I watched him console one who began crying while he spoke. Olivia snorted, "She's _crying?_ Ten bucks she's gone by tomorrow."

"You think your brother is going to kick her out for crying?" I said, watching him pat the girls back and pull her into a hug. He didn't look uncomfortable, nor did he look angry. I couldn't see anything that showed he would kick the girl out.

"My brother might be an idiot," Olivia said, "but even he can see when he's being played. That girl's only crying because it gives her an excuse to wrap her arms around him and play damsel."

I snorted, turning and looking at the twelve-year-old girl that stood beside me. "For a kid, you're pretty smart."

"I know," she said, moving to sit in the empty chair that was only a few steps behind her. I followed her over, leaning against the wall just beside one of the lit torches. The room seemed a lot less frightening now that it was lit, but I couldn't shake the nagging bit of fear I felt knowing there were rebels attacking somewhere close by.

We ended up staying in the hidden room for close to an hour, and only when guards came and opened each of the passages did everyone file out. When I moved into the line that's formed to get out of the passage that the girls had come in, Roman pulled be out quickly enough that I stumbled on my feet. A few of the girls that'd been behind me shot me a look, but I didn't know if it was because I'd flailed around or because the Prince had pulled be away.

He cleared his throat, "thank you for staying with my sister while I was… talking to people."

I shrugged, "I think we would have been fine alone, too. She wasn't scared."

"I think she was." He said, turning back to look at the other door. It was still open, but Olivia had already gone through and was no where to be seen. "She just didn't show it. So thanks."

I nodded. He didn't say anything else, and I stepped back into line while he moved back out the other door. Naomi was waiting outside the bookcase that hit the hallway, and as soon as I stepped through, she pulled back on the same book she'd touched before. I watched the bookcase slide closed right up until Naomi began to push us all out of the room and into the main corridor. After a second of looking us all up and down, she sighed.

"I'm going to cancel our lesson this evening," Naomi said, and around me I heard responses ranging from 'thank god' to 'yay', all of which were positive. Before everyone could turn away and disappear, she added, "stay out of the north wing!"

Tamara came up behind me while we walked, roping her arm around mine so that our elbows were linked. I smiled at her, noting that even though she was wearing heels much taller than my own, I still stood at a few inches taller. The two of us headed back to the drawing room, where we lounged about and watched T.V. on the screen. I pulled a wad of paper out of one of the cupboards in the room, alongside a pen, and I began to scribble the beginnings of a letter to send off to my family.

I decided against including anything on the rebel attack, knowing it would do nothing but worry my mom. I realized I had no idea whether or not the rebels had actually succeeded in crossing the stone wall that lined the property, but I figured that was the kind of thing I could ask Roman, if he made another round of the tables at the next meal.

On the subject of Roman, my mind didn't know what to think. As much as I hated to admit it, I was intrigued by him, and even his sister as well. I'd been one hundred and four percent prepared to be meeting a family of snots and nobles, but neither of them seemed to act that way in the slightest. Roman did tend to be a little teasing and rude, as I'd come to notice, but that was just about it.

While I was just finishing up writing about my room on the small piece of parchment, I looked up to see one of the maid's standing in the doorway to the drawing room, searching the small crowd that'd formed inside. Not everyone had come in there, but more than a few had taken hull in the room that had become our 'common room', I guess you could say. The maid seemed to have spotted whomever she was looking for, because she launched into action and moved quickly across the room, stopping in front of a blond girl I didn't know.

The girls head was turned away, but the moment she looked at the maid, I recognised her face. She'd been the girl who was crying downstairs in the hidden room. I watched curiously while the maid whispered something in her ear before scurrying off, and the girl turned back to the two people she'd been talking to with a grin on her face.

My mom had always told me not to eavesdrop, but it seemed that rule was getting harder and harder to follow. All I caught before the girl scampered from the room was that the Prince had asked to see her, and I turned to look at Tamara, shaking my head.

Tamara frowned, "What? That's probably a good thing—Prince Roman hasn't asked to see anyone alone yet other than her."

I made a face, unable to ignore the words that Olivia had said earlier. "I have a sneak suspicion she won't be at breakfast tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

The girl, who's name I later learnt was Amber, was not at breakfast in the morning, or any meal after. There had been no formal announcement to tell us that she'd gone home, but everyone seemed to realize it pretty quick, just as they did when he sent three more girls home two days later.

When the first week had gone by at the palace, and already ten girls were gone, I began to feel uneasy. Over the course of the past few days I'd only talked to Roman a few times at dinner, when he did the nightly rounds that everyone had gotten accustomed to. None of which were as eventful as the first two were.

Something about that fact was upsetting, though also relieving. It only got unnerving when girls began exclaiming he'd asked them out on private dates, or squealed about him kissing them. It wasn't as though I wanted Roman to take me into one of the darker hallways and kiss the life out of me—because I certainly did not—but something about the fact that I was being ignored made me feel nervous.

Tamara was one of the girls who'd been asked out on a private date, and though Yvette hadn't said anything on the matter, it quickly became clear she was jealous that she hadn't been asked. I liked Yvette enough, and she was nice to Tamara and I, she was just overly into the competition. I couldn't decide whether or not she was into the boy or the crown, but either way she wanted it bad.

I figured that was why when I showed up in Tamara's room that night just an hour before she was supposed to meet Roman, I saw that I was the only one invited. One of her maids pulled open the door and let me in, and I stepped inside to find Tamara sitting behind her own makeup table, a second maid pulling at her hair. She smiled at me through the mirror.

"Oh, I'm so nervous." Tamara said, bouncing her leg. "He told me to meet him out by the West doors, so I'm guessing we're going to go to the gardens."

"That sounds fun," I said, walking over and sitting on her bed. Tamara's room looked a lot like mine layout wise, but her décor was a lot different. While mine seemed to stick with a black, white and grey mix, hers was more vibrant and colourful. "Romantic."

"I know," she said, grinning. The maid who stood behind her was curling her hair into thick swirls that went good with her hair colour. Hanging off of the bed post behind them was a dress made out of the same shade of orangey-red she'd been wearing the first day at the palace.

I whistled, admiring the piece, "You're going to look so good in that."

Tamara looked ready to jump out of her seat, but she stayed still for the sake of the curling iron that the made held so close to her scalp. She looked back at the dress through the mirror, "I hope so. I really just want this to go well tonight."

I smiled, but it felt a little forced. On the surface I was happy and I felt just as excited for Tamara and she felt for herself, but somewhere deep inside there was a tinge of jealousy that wouldn't disappear.

Tamara told her maids to leave ten minutes before eight, and I was shrugging my jacket onto my shoulders soon after. Outside, there wasn't a hint of sunlight in the sky, and through Tamara's window I could see hundreds of stars lighting up the night. I let out a quick breath of air, thinking that it was a great scene for a date.

When I pulled open Tamara's door, I turned back and waved my fingers at her, "Have a good time, tell me all about it tomorrow."

"I will," she said, grinning. "To both of those."

I left and shut the door behind me. At the end of the hallway, I rounded the corner and walked smack into someone's chest. I stumbled back, blinking at the sudden connection between my face and someone's rock-hard shoulder. When my eyes trailed up, I nearly jumped back another foot.

Roman Séear was intimidating when he was standing in front of you at a dinner table, and he was intimidating when he was sitting beside you on live T.V., but he was more intimidating than both of those instances combined when he was standing in front of you within an arms reach. He was dressed in the same kind if suit he'd been wearing in every instance I'd seen him, with a jacket over a button up white shirt.

He looked down at me with green eyes that looked both curious and cold, and I felt a shiver creep down my spine when I met them. He smirked, "What's your name again?"

"Noah," I said, frowning.

He nodded, "Isn't that a guy's name?"

I blinked, squinting at him, "do I look like a guy?"

I watched his eyes trail down across the dress that I'd kept on after dinner, and I felt my hand twitch at my side. Any other guy, and I would have lifted my hand and slapped them clean across the face, but knowing this was a man who could have me put to death for raising a finger, I kept my hand still. I hated myself for the way my heart raced while I waited for him to look up at my face again. He swallowed, "No, I'd say not."

It was quiet between us for a second after that, and I moved to sidestep him, but he shifted and blocked me again. He ran his hand through his hair, "Okay, that was rude. Starting over. Hi, I'm Roman."

"Bye, Roman." I said, stepping past him. He didn't try to block me this time, but it was almost worse to hear his laugh from behind me while I walked. When I neared the staircase, I turned around to check if he was still there, only to see he wasn't.

Penelope, Hannah and Francine were waiting in my room when I went in. The three of them were sitting at the end of my bed laughing when I pushed open the door, and the they all shot to their feet and sobered. I smiled, "don't stop on my account."

"Sorry, miss," Hannah said, pushing up the glasses that were falling off of her nose. "We were just talking."

"Yeah?" I said, moving to sit on my bed next to where they'd been. "What was so funny?"

It took a second for one of them to speak, but Francine chimed in soon enough. She ignored the looks that the two others gave her when she fell back onto the bed and sprawled herself out just like she had before. She grinned, "So, there's this maid who—"

"Maybe we shouldn't be gossiping about this with—" Penelope started, though she was quickly interrupted.

"Oh, who cares." Hannah said, jumping up beside Francine. With much reluctance, Penelope climbed up last, sitting cross legged at the edge of the bed.

Francine glared at her two coworkers, "Can I continue now?"

"By all means," Penelope said, frowning, she turned to me, "just, miss, if you could not mention this to Mrs. Richards or any of the other officials."

I rolled my eyes, "that's like telling someone not to tell before telling them a secret. I wouldn't dream of it."

Francine smiled, "So the maids down in the room—where we sew all the dresses—are always talking about the girls, right? Well, turns out one of the girls in the Selection is continuously asking for enough padding in the top of her dress to make a boy look like he had boobs."

"Francine!" Penelope scolded, her eyes going wide, "You probably could have phrased that nicer."

I snorted, immediately racking my brain for who that could have been. I figured it had to be one of the girls who'd worn the dresses that cut low enough that cleavage spilled from the fabric. I paused, "Some of the girls in this competition really are classy."

"Oh, you have no idea!" Francine said, leaning back so her head hung off the edge of the bed. While she waved her hands around, I noticed her nails were painted bright red. "There's this other girl who asked her maids to get her one of those... easy shavers, you know, for down there, just in case Roman decides to go that far."

I scrunched my nose, frowning. The maids continued to recount the stories they'd heard of back down in the sewing room. By the time they ran out of things to say, I was already yawning and my eyes were half asleep. I took Hannah's help in unzipping the back of my dress, but then I dismissed the three of them for the night.

When I was redressed in my nightgown, I climbed back into bed and fell asleep quicker than I ever had before.

In the morning, I woke up and let the maids work their magic on my tangled mop of hair and my unevenly coloured skin, and then I scarfed down breakfast like it was my last meal. When the girls all left the dining room, Naomi led us into the ballroom.

It looked different than it had when we'd gone in for the _Capitol Report,_ but I figured that was just because there was no longer a stage set up in the middle of the room, nor tens of chairs in front of it. Instead, it was empty.

The room itself was huge, though I'd noted that the first time we went in. The walls had evenly spaced windows that stretched all the way from the floor to the roof, with a great view of the yard outside. Any words that were said inside the ballroom seemed to echo and only get louder.

Naomi stopped walking in the middle of the room, and she turned to face us all. I felt Tamara bump into my back from the sudden stop, and she mumbled a quick sorry just after.

"Ladies," Naomi started, "today we are going to be learning how to waltz. The Queen is talking about having a ball in honour of the visit of the Queen of France."

By then, Tamara had moved beside me and was grinning ear to ear. I smiled over at her while Naomi continued, "Pair up with one another for now—I'll ask to borrow some guards tomorrow when we practice again."

Tamara and I turned to one another almost immediately. It felt weird to know that I'd made a friend here, knowing I wouldn't be here long, and I'd never been able to make one at home. Still, Tamara and I had become fast friends over the first week of the Selection, and I couldn't have been more grateful.

Naomi demonstrated with the one girl who'd been left without a partner, and we mimicked the placements of their arms. While we moved side to side and spun, I barked out a laugh, almost tripping over my own feet.

"So," Tamara said, holding back a smile. Naomi had begun making rounds of the pairs to check up on their forms. I would have given Tamara an on the effort scale. "Last night he comes to get me, right?"

"Right," I said, swallowing as I remembered. I'd been expecting her recount of the events, and though I was still happy to listen, a part of me didn't want to hear anything about her night out with the Prince. "And?"

"We went out into the gardens and we walked around all of the flowers," she paused, wetting her lips, "He picked one of the tulips and put it in my hair—it was so sweet."

I smiled, "That's cute. Odd, considering he seems like such a jerk."

"Okay, I'll admit he does come across as rude and, well, jerky," Tamara said, pausing, "but he's so nice when he's not around everyone else."

Naomi came up beside us and moved Tamara's hand that'd been resting on my shoulder. After watching us take a few steps, she moved on to the two girls who'd been dancing next to us, of whom I only knew one of their names, which was Janice.

The doors at the far end of the room were pulled open, and everyone's attention turned towards the Prince as he walked in. Every girl in the room dropped into a curtsey, and I couldn't help but notice the gasps and giggles that sounded soon after.

Roman wore a grin as he sauntered over to the group, "I heard you were dancing."

"We are, your highness," Naomi said, stepping out from behind the crowd of girls. She cleared her throat, "I'm teaching them to waltz—there's talk of a ball next week."

"Ah, yes," Prince Roman said, nodding, "the one my mother wants to throw for Queen Charlotte."

"That'd be the one, yes." Naomi said.

Roman looked around and swallowed, "So, if I'm not mistaken you've got an odd number of girls here, don't you?"

"We do," Naomi said, motioning towards Isabelle, who she'd been dancing with. "Isabelle here was just dancing with me."

Over the past week, I'd made it my mission to learn as many names as possible. I'd gotten down to only a few left, but they were people that Tamara didn't know either, and so I was almost out of luck. She'd told me that I could simply ask them if I wanted to know so badly, but I told her that I'd rather just look in her magazine instead. I'd meant to grab it from her last night, but I forgot.

"Well," Roman said, moving over to where Isabelle stood. He dropped into a half-bow and held his hand out towards her. When Isabelle slipped her hand into his, her cheeks blazed a red so fierce it was impossible not to notice. "I'll relieve you, Mrs. Richards."

Naomi smiled, moving out to the side of the crowd, she pressed play on the speaker that they'd brought into the room. When the music began, Tamara and I stayed still for only a few seconds to watch the prince waltz Isabelle around as though it was simple. When Tamara and I began again, we were stumbling all over the place, with no idea how to move our feet.

Naomi came over to try and help us, but for the rest of the lesson we were hopeless, despite her aid. When we left the room to get lunch, Roman left the group to attend to his own daily activities, and Tamara leaned towards me, dropping her voice to a hushed tone, "I'm so jealous of Isabelle right now."

I laughed, looking back at the girl as soon as Tamara mentioned her. Isabelle was walking with a skip in her step, over the moon—the smile on her face was wide enough that I would have assumed she was the happiest girl on earth.

Sandwiches had been prepared for us in the dining room, already served at the table. As per usual, we ate lunch without the presence of any of the royals—that was the meal that they took alone, somewhere else in the palace. Who knew that they'd need time alone and away from the 27 screaming fangirls that they lived with?

Yvette came over to me after she'd finished her own meal bending down behind my chair so she could talk into my ear. I listened while I chewed on a mouthful of ham sandwich. "Tamara has been getting really close to the prince, hasn't she?"

I nodded, "Kind of. They went on a date last night."

"Huh," Yvette said, standing up straight. She stared across the open space in the room to Tamara's seat at the other table. She was absorbed in a conversation with one of the girls that sat beside her. "Lucky her."

I smiled, shrugging. Yvette stayed next to me for only a few more seconds before she went back towards her chair.

One of the maids came in when everyone was done with a bag in her hands. When everyone turned to look at her, she cleared her throat, "Um, I have mail."

One by one, she called out names written on the fronts of the envelopes and girls went up to collect. I wasn't surprised when she yelled my name, but I jumped up from my seat and almost tripped on my way over to her when she did. I grabbed the letter and uttered a small "thank you" before running back to my chair and ripping the paper open.

My mothers script had always been irregularly pretty to me, and when I saw the letter written in her handwriting, it suddenly made me feel homesick. I'd missed her the entire time I'd been there, but seeing something like the letter made it all hit me in one fell swoop.

 _Dear Miracle,_

 _I'm missing you so much, but getting your letter made me so happy! I'm glad everything is as amazing as we'd thought it was. I'm going to need details on all of the food they're serving you in your next letter though, because I'm really curious about that._

 _Tell me more about the prince—have you seen him much? Is he as handsome as he seems on T.V.? How about the King_

 _I miss you more and more every day, and as much as I'd give anything to see you, I hope you stay there until the end. You're so beyond worthy of being Queen. You have a heart of gold._

 _I love you Noah,_

 _Mom._

I let out a breath, smiling down at the page while I folded it back up and clutched it in my hand. I'd mailed her a letter only a few days after the first day, and I was eager to send her another one.

When Naomi came in to tell us we could have the afternoon to ourselves, I ran back to my room to put the letter away somewhere. My maids were nowhere to be seen when I stepped inside. I beelined towards the makeup table at the end of the room, tucking the letter into the top drawer. My hand lingered on the handle when I closed it, and I smiled to myself.

I pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, sitting in front of the mirror, I began to write.


	11. Chapter 11

By eight o'clock, every one of the twenty-seven girls were standing in front of the fountain in front of the palace in the exact same dress. It was as if someone had pressed copy and paste, and paste, and paste.

It wasn't even that nice of a dress, compared to all of the others we'd been given. It wasn't as though I was complaining—the rose-coloured fabric was still beautiful, and it was a gorgeous style. However, next to the crinoline and jeweled dresses, it was like putting a hundred dollar bill next to a hundred and five dollars and asking someone to pick. Either one was good, but one was just better.

The prince came out through the palaces front doors dressed in a suit so black is matched his hair. I heard the girls reactions to his outfits chorus from the line around me the moment he started making his way down the stairs. The tie that was tucked under the buttons of his jacket was the same rose colour as every one of the dresses that the girls wore before him, and somehow it didn't seem tacky.

He made his way in front of the camera that was set up by the fountain, toying with the cuff links around his wrists.

Naomi clapped, tearing everyone's attention away from the prince and towards her. She stood near the front of the line, the only girl outside who wasn't wearing a rose-coloured dress. "Alright. Some of these photo's will be featured in the magazine, so, smile the biggest and maybe they'll pick you."

She pointed to the first girl in line, one of the girls who's name I had yet to learn, "You, go."

The girl moved over towards the fountain and stopped beside Roman. The photographer began taking shots from the moment she was within the frame, as if he was trying to catch a moment between the two of them. I watched the first few girls' turns, but the repetition of events quickly became boring and I turned away. It was almost a half hour before I was walking over to the fountain.

When Roman looked up at me, he wore the same smug smile he did every other time I saw him. "Noah."

"Prince Roman." I said, clearing my throat as I stepped up next to him. I saw the flash of the photographers camera while I stood there, and I blinked at it. It seemed so much more overwhelming now that I was standing in front of it.

Roman snaked his arm around my waist, and I felt his fingers on my hip. "You look like you're a deer in headlights."

"I feel like I am," I said, laughing. "That's a bright flash. I mean, I get that it's night and all, but that's a bright flash.

He laughed, "Just don't look at it."

"Where do I look?" I asked.

"You could look at me instead," he said, already turning towards me.

I looked up at his face and wondered if my face was as red as Isabelle's had been earlier that day. His smug expression was still there, and it made the simple action of me looking up at his face seem intimate—too intimate to be happening in front of the rest of the Selected.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asked, ignoring the photographer completely.

I swallowed, "Should we be talking while he's taking photos?"

He shrugged, grinning, "Yeah, it's fine. So, tonight."

"It's already almost nine." I said, frowning, "What, exactly, are you asking me to do tonight?"

"Walk," he said, shrugging. "I was thinking we could go on an adventure."

The camera clicked again, and I felt the slow, rhythmic beating of my heart in my chest. Roman made me nervous, but not in a giddy, romantic teenager way—in a terrified way. I swallowed, "Where to?"

"It's a surprise." He said, turning his head towards the camera, he used one of his hands to turn turn my chin, too, and I posed for a few shots with a smile. "So? Is that a yes?"

"I guess," I said, watching as Naomi told the next girl in line to switch with me. I cleared my throat, "Time's up."

"I'll come by your room after the shoot," Roman said, pulling his arm away from my waist. I nodded, already moving back to where Tamara and Yvette were sitting on the steps. I looked back and watched Roman curl the same arm that'd been around me around the new girl.

Tamara and Yvette had both had their photo's taken already, and they were in the middle of the crowd of girls that'd formed on the steps. The only girls still standing were the four who had yet to get their photo's done, and Sierra, who opted for standing to the side.

I opened my mouth to tell Tamara about the fact that Roman had asked me to go out with him that night, but I closed it when I saw Yvette. We had long since noticed that Yvette was one of the girls that was in the competition to win, not to make friends. Still, neither Tamara or I saw that as a reason to abandon her. She was nice, when she wasn't staring daggers at the other girls, anyways.

I decided I'd tell Tamara later, if we got a moment alone. If not, there was always tomorrow, and I could tell her the details on how it went.

When all the girls had gotten their photo's alone with Roman, Naomi arranged us all on the staircase, spacing us out to fill the middle three steps. Roman stood in the middle of the group, completely unfazed by the camera as it clicked.

I knew that his ability to stay calm and collected, both on video and in photo's, had probably been a habit he picked up after growing up in this life. Still, I envied it. I'd been followed by camera's and had my photo's taken so many times over the past week that you'd think I'd be used to it, but I was far from it. Whenever I found myself face-to-face with a lens, I froze.

The photographer was finished after only a few minutes, and the selected were dismissed for the day. When we moved back inside, Yvette and Tamara both found their way back to my side and we moved as a pack back towards the guest wing.

My maids were waiting in my room when I pushed open the door, but all three of them were busy with something. Hannah was sweeping the floors and Penelope was arranging my bed, and Francine was tucked away in the bathroom, probably cleaning up from the bath I'd had that morning.

Hannah leaned the broom up against the nearest wall and smiled, "Out of your dress, then, miss?"

"Uh, not yet." I said, smiling at the curious expression she took on. Even Penelope looked over, and though she always did a good job of making herself look reserved and neutral, she looked overly interested right then. "I have a date."

"Oh, yay!" Francine called from the bathroom, running out with a cloth and spray bottle in her hands. She grinned, "Finally!"

I laughed, "He said he'd come by after the shoot, but I'm not sure when he was meaning. I don't know what we're going to be doing, either."

Hannah turned and looked the window. She frowned, "Well, you're definitely not going outside."

I moved to look out the window beside her, trying to see what she was seeing. Over the past few days, I'd noticed the numbers of guards that were positioned out in the hallways and outside had grown, but outside it looked like there was an entire army waiting. Men wearing the navy and white uniform were standing every twenty feet alone the outer wall, barely visible in the distance, but still visible.

I frowned, "They're expecting another rebel attack sometime soon, I'm guessing."

"Certainly looks that way," Hannah said. The two of us stared at the guards for only a second longer before our attentions were jolted away with a knock at the door. I blinked, and Hannah grinned.

Francine quickly dropped the cleaning supplies she'd been holding onto the floor inside the bathroom, running up to the door. She paused, her hand on the door knob, she turned to look at me and smiled before she pulled it open.

I'd never taken Francine for an actress, but she did a great job of looking surprised when she saw the prince behind the door. The acting wasn't really necessary, but I figured it was just Francine being Francine. Out of all three of my maids, she was the one who was the most open and easy to know, and I'd definitely gotten to know her.

Prince Roman looked different than he usually did. His hair was ruffled in the way it usually was, and his eyes were the same speckled green, but his attire made him look younger. He'd taken off the suit jacket he'd been wearing for the photoshoot, but he'd kept the white button up. The tie was gone, and the two top buttons had been undone, and while he stood in my doorway he was rolling up the sleeves of the shirt to his elbows.

He grinned, "Sorry I took so long. I stopped by my room to get rid of the blasted jacket."

"Didn't like it that much, then?" I asked, moving towards the door. I heard Hannah giggle behind me—I knew it was her because Penelope really didn't seem like the giggling type. At least, not around the prince.

"Not my finest one." He said, moving out of the way so I could step through the doorway. "So, I have an idea, but you're going to have to trust me. Also, can you run very fast?"

"Um, on a regular day, maybe." I said, looking down at my shoes with distaste. The dress that'd been chosen for the shoot was short enough that I could see the heels without needed to pull up the bottom of it. "But not in these shoes."

He grimaced, "You might need to take them off when we get there, then. A quick escape could be necessary."

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing.

"Noah, don't you know the definition of a surprise." He winked, and I rolled my eyes. He scoffed at that, "Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

I paused, "Yeah, I think I did."

"At me?" He repeated, looking down at me. "Why?"

"Your flirting really is something." I said, whistling.

He laughed, "The wink was too much, then? I suppose kissing you goodnight when this date is over is out of the question?"

"I really don't feel like contracting that blonde girl's saliva." I said.

He snickered, leading us down the hallways towards the stairs. While we were making our way up the steps, he turned and looked at me, shaking his head, "I suppose I'll just have to ask again when the evening's over—you'll probably have a different answer by then."

"Prepare to be disappointed." I said.

Roman led us up to the top floor and down the narrow hallway. He stopped in front of one of the doors and reached into his pocket, pulling out a bobby pin. My first thought was which of the girls he'd took that from, but I swallowed the question. I watched as he jiggled the metal into the lock and then pushed open the door.

I frowned, "I feel like there's probably a reason that was locked."

"You're probably right," He said, holding it open for me to walk through. I looked up at the staircase that sat inside and frowned. Another door was at the top of it, and I wondered if that one would be locked as well. When I didn't move, Roman sighed, stepping inside and moving onto the first step, "I'll go first then. Come on."

I stayed a few steps behind him while he moved up, listening to the hinges of the door we'd come in through squeak as it closed. The door at the top wasn't locked, and when Roman pushed it open he was blocking my few of whatever there was on the other side.

When I emerged behind him, I blinked at what I saw. We were standing on the roof, and above us there was a black sky full of stars and not a cloud to be seen. Around us, we could see everything, from the city's tall skyscrapers to the ocean that stretched across the horizon. I grinned, "Okay, this is kind of nice."

"Kind of?" He repeated, scoffing. "I'm risking my neck here, and you only call it kind of nice."

"Maybe I'm afraid of heights." I said, shrugging. I wasn't, though the idea of falling to the ground did terrify me a little, but I found his reaction funny. Roman looked up at me with a look of frustration. "Don't worry—I'm not."

"Good," He said, laughing. "They used to keep both of those doors unlocked, but when I started coming up here they started locking it to try and keep me out. Obviously, that didn't work."

"But I'm assuming they don't know that." I said, and he nodded. "Why don't they like you coming up here?"

He laughed, "Oddly enough, they don't like risking I'll become something they have to scrape off of the patio."

I grinned, "Weird. I mean, how important could you be? It's not like your heir to a throne."

"Exactly," he said.

We were both quiet for a minute after that, and I turned to look out at the ocean again. It was easy to make out the line in which the water turned to sky at the edge of the horizon, but I couldn't figure out just how I could see it. Both of them looked black, tinted that way with the lack of sun.

Roman cleared his throat, and I turned back towards him. He had moved back and was sitting on the raised bit of stone that lined the edge of the roof. I moved towards him, but I didn't dare sit next to him—that was too close to the edge for me.

"So, how are you enjoying the selection, Noah?" He asked, running one of his hands through his hair to push back the strands that had fallen over his eyes.

"It's been good," I said, wetting my lips, "I'm going to miss it when you finally kick me out."

"When I finally kick you out?" He repeated, laughing again. He looked up at me as though he were studying me, and I suddenly felt like bacteria under a microscope. "Maybe I don't want to kick you out."

"I have no intention of winning this competition," I said, surprised at how insincere the words felt. I'd have gone to my grave with that claim on me tombstone not a week earlier, but right then I felt like the phrase was wrong. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad to live a live at the palace and have a closet full of dresses as fancy as the ones I had then, and a prince at my side.

"Why are you even here, then?" He asked, and after a second he held his hand up to keep me from responding. "Wait, I already know the answer to that. It's the food, isn't it?"

"You're smart." I said, raising an eyebrow. "It's the food and the clothes."

"You like the dresses?" He said, pursing his lips. "Personally, I've never worn one, but Olivia says they're horrible annoying to put on and take off all the time. I mean, I know what it's like to take them _off,_ but I suppose it's not the same experience when you're taking it off someone else."

I blinked, looking over at him with shock. He didn't look embarrassed or even red in the slightest, despite the fact he'd just openly told me something that I thought would have been incredibly personal. I felt my cheeks burn red after just hearing the words.

Technically, he'd broken the law. Or at least I figured he'd broken the law. I'd never actually said he'd had sex, but the implication was there in plain black ink. I wondered how he could think he'd make a good kind if he, himself, did not abide by the laws.

I didn't voice my opinions, and I ignored his words instead. I swallowed, "They're nice dresses."

"Yes, I suppose they are." He said, looking up at me. He reached for the hem of the one I wore, and I watched his hands, ready to step back if I needed to. His fingers grazed the fabric, and then he pulled back. I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. "Tell me about your home."

"Okay," I said, clearing my throat. "I live in an apartment, with my mom. It's kind of out of the way of the city, so neither of us go into town that much, but it's nice. I'm from Allens."

"Allens." He repeated, nodding. He looked out at the city behind me, and I watched his eyes dart from building to building. "I want to go to Allens one day."

"No, you really don't." I said, snorting. "It's plain and boring, and there's not much to do."

"Yes, but it's away from here." He said, looking over at me then. He sighed, "I've been stuck in this palace since I was born, and the few times that I'm not here, I'm with my parents at some function or meeting that's probably far more boring than Allens. All I've ever wanted to do is get out of here."

"But you have so much here," I said, shaking my head, "You can't really be taking all of that for granted."

"It probably sounds selfish, especially to a six," He said, and I frowned, "but we've both grown up in different ways. I've grown up on camera, stuck behind four walls and interacting with the same kind of people for nineteen years. You've grown up… I wish I grew up how you did."

I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. I looked over at him and watched the way his feet kicked the stone under them. I wondered how many people he'd told that to before, and then I realized there probably hadn't been many. I couldn't tell him his hopes and dreams were wrong, because no one's every really were, but that didn't mean I didn't feel as though he was, in fact, wrong.

I thought about if I'd grown up like he did, trapped in the palace and constantly followed by camera's. I tried to put myself in his shoes and see how he must have felt, but I couldn't.

We stayed up on the roof for only an hour or so, and when he led me back downstairs and dropped me off in front of my door, he didn't ask to kiss my again like he'd said he would. He said goodnight and then he left, and I watched him walk down the hallway, feeling every bit as giddy and happy as Tamara had.

It said something that he hadn't asked again—it said that his whole image, the one that made tabloids call him the prince of hell and the girls swoon, might have been nothing but a surface. One that could be cracked.


	12. Chapter 12

Saturdays were the one day a week in which the selected were free of all of their selection duties, and I didn't think it came fast enough. When I woke up in the morning—all on my own, and not by Penelope shaking me—it felt blissful.

I dressed in the simplest dress that was offered in my closet, and I didn't let Hannah so much as step within a meter of me with the makeup. She was something of a prodigy in that department, and she tended to take a while to work her magic on my face. I was out of the room before she'd even finished digging through the drawers.

Tamara was awake and sitting on the floor of her room when her maid opened her door and let me in. Sprawled across the wooden floor boards in front of her were clips of ribbon and plastic gems, all surrounding a home-made card. She looked up at me when I stepped into her room, and she smiled, "Oh, hi."

"Hey," I said, moving to sit in front of her. I was careful not to step on any of the pieces that were surrounding her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making a card," she said, holding up the work in progress. She'd cut different sizes of paper, glueing them on top of each other to make a border. _Mom_ was written in fancy, cursive letters that'd been written in paint, and was incredibly impressive. If I tried to write with a paintbrush, I knew it'd go horribly wrong. "My mom's birthday is next week, and I'm thinking—well, hoping—I'll be here for it, so I'm mailing it to her. Is it bad that I'm hoping I'll be across the country for my mom's birthday?"

I laughed, picking up one of the extra snippets of ribbon and tying it around my wrist. The orange looked horrid against the purple of my dress. "I'm sure the circumstances make it okay."

"Yeah, probably." She said, grinning. She glued a few more jewels to the outside of the card before she pulled it open and began writing on the inside—with a pen, this time. "Did you know they have a pool here? Like, and indoor one?"

I shrugged, "Doesn't seem all that surprising."

"You should ask your maids to make you a swimsuit, and we can check it out," Tamara said, "I've already asked mine to."

"Sounds good," I said, smiling. I watched Tamara write, admiring the swoops in her letters. My writing would have looked like a tragedy next to hers. I almost forgot about why I'd come to her room while I was watching. I perked up, having remembered. "Oh, guess what I did last night."

Tamara gave me a funny look, "Slept?"

"Well, yes," I said, letting out a laugh. "And went on a date with prince Roman."

Tamara grinned, dropping the plastic jewels she'd had in her hands to reach out and grab my arm. She looked even more excited than me, and I was beginning to think that she was just always excited. When she pulled her arm away, there were small bits of glue on my arm where the tips of her fingers had been. "Oh, that's so exciting! What'd you do? Tell me all about it."

I wet my lips, thinking back to when we'd been up on the roof. I shrugged, "He took me to the roof, and we talked. We were only up there for, like, an hour."

"The roof?" Tamara repeated. She took on a quizzical expression, "Are you even allowed up there?"

I snorted, "I don't even think he is."

"Oh, that's so.." Tamara paused, her eyes darting around the floor, "that's so romantic. And all I got was a walk in the gardens."

I laughed, moving so I sat cross-legged. Tamara looked down at the card again just long enough to finish writing her name at the bottom. She looked down at it with a smile. I sighed, watching her draw around it with liquid glue and then cover it with silver glitter. The card had so many colours and sparkles, you'd have think it was done by a child—but the lines were all too clean and organised for it to have been done by a child.

Tamara stood, and a wave of glitter fell off the skirt of her dress and onto the floor. She gasped, looking over at her maid and frowning, "Sorry."

Her maid smiled, "I'll clean it up when you're finished. Don't worry, miss."

Tamara put the card on her dresser, pinning the edges down with a photo frame and a candle. She turned back around with her hands on her hips. I pushed myself back up onto my feet and looked down at the mess of ribbons and such on the floor. I untied the orange ribbon I'd tied to my wrist and dropped it onto the pile.

Tamara and I left her room and made our way into the drawing room while her maid swept up the pile she'd left on the floor. That room had quickly become the room everyone seemed to migrate to whenever they were bored. When we walked through the door, there were already ten girls inside, all separated into two groups that sat at opposite ends of the room.

I followed Tamara to one of the groups, and they made room for us in their circle. I recognised most of them—Quinn, Ashley, Isabelle, Marla and Kaylee—the other two, I didn't know.

The moment Tamara and I sat down, Kaylee started talking, keeping her tones hushed. She looked like a child on Christmas. "He sent seven of us home this morning. _Seven._ We're a week and a half into this and he's already sent a third of us away."

It was easy to see that Kaylee was ecstatic about having gossip more than the fact that seven of us were gone. My first impression of her was that she was a nice person, but she was also a terrible gossip. Anyone who told her anything _wanted_ it to get around the group.

Across the circle, Isabelle frowned, "I'm kind of scared—there's only twenty of us left. That's 10 people left until the elite—one in every two people will be gone."

"There's eight of us sitting here right now," Marla said, looking around at everyone. When she met my eyes, I saw how sad she looked. "Doesn't that mean four of us will be gone?"

The group grew quiet for a second, and I swallowed. I looked at the group that sat at the other end of the room and took note of the people that were standing amongst it. Harriet was there, and I wondered if maybe we'd just gotten off on the wrong foot, because she seemed to be smiling and laughing with the rest of them just fine.

Something about the fact that they were smiling and laughing made me feel weary about them though, because this was the biggest news that'd come about the selection in days, and I would have been shocked if they weren't talking about it. It seemed almost sinister to be laughing about it.

Quinn cleared her throat, her eyes on the window behind Kaylee's head, her fingers were running themselves through the strands of her brown hair. "I hate to say it, but I really hope it's some of you guys and not me."

A laugh rolled through the people around us, and Quinn smiled, but it looked forced. I'd known most of these girls for less than a week, but when you spend hours together everyday, you get to know them fast. I knew that when any of us left—be it me or one of them—I'd be sad.

From the other end of the room, one of the girls laughed a little too loudly for it to have been natural. Half of our circle looked up and over at them, only to see them all looking at us. Tamara leaned into me and swallowed, "Do you feel this tension or is that just a me thing?"

"Oh, no," I said, nodding. "There's tension."

"I feel like they're talking about us," Marla said, turning back away from the other group and pursing her lips. "Does anyone else feel like they're talking about us?"

"They're definitely talking about us," Kaylee concluded, frowning. "Like, in the kind of way that they want us to notice."

Ashley shook her head, "If Roman picks one of them to be Queen, I'm going to be really upset. I mean, don't get me wrong, if it's not my name on that wedding contract then I'm still going to be upset, but I'm going to be really, _really_ upset if it ends up being someone like Janice Clarke."

I frowned, looking back over my shoulder at the girls. I hadn't seen her before, but I did then. Janice was sitting on the couch with a grin plastered to her face in the middle of the group. She didn't look like anyone I should have a problem with, but, then again, neither did Harriet. I turned back to our group, "What's so wrong with Janice?"

"Oh," half of the girls around me said, in a way that made my eyes go wide. It was not a good "oh".

"She was on the plane with me and Izzy on the way here, you know, cause we're both from the mainland," Quinn started, rolling her eyes. "She was so rude to all of the guards and don't even get me started on how she treated Leah. I mean, I get that some two's have problems with people from lower castes, but…"

"Janice dropped some of the food she'd brought up on the plane and it got _everywhere_ ," Isabelle said, dropping her voice to whispers, "and she woke Leah up and told her to clean it. She said it was a sixes job, not hers."

When Isabelle and Quinn stopped talking, I realized why I had a reason to hate Janice. I was a six, just like Leah, and that was no way to treat someone just because they were from a lower caste. I swallowed, feeling my blood boil under my skin. I'd taken a lot of crap from people over the years because of my caste, but for some reason hearing about someone else's maltreatment because of it made me that much angrier.

The girls dropped the aggravating topics soon after that and started talking about the prince and all his glory, and the things he'd done with them on dates. At this point, he'd taken almost every girl on one, and it kind of stung to know I was one of the last ones. Still, it probably didn't sting as much as it did for Kaylee, who had yet to go on a date.

I left after a few minutes, not feeling the conversation. While I was making my way through the halls back towards my room, the sound of a piano caught my ears, and I changed course towards it's origin. Through the door that was open just a crack, I could hear someone who was obviously talented pressing down on the keys inside. I pushed it open just a little and saw Olivia Séear sitting in front of a grand piano.

The room was full of tens of other kinds of instruments, from guitars to things that I had no idea what to name. She was facing away from me, and so I stepped into the room without worrying she'd see me and be disturbed. Her hands moved in practiced movements across the keys, and it amazed me that a thirteen-year-old girl could know how to play like that.

When she hit the final key in the song, I lifted my hands to clap. She jumped at the sound, whipping her head around and looking at me with wide eyes. She let out a heavy breath when she saw me, laughing, "You scared me."

I shrugged, motioning towards the instrument, "That was amazing."

"Oh," she said, smiling. "I've been practicing that song for months, so I'm glad. How'd you find me in here?"

"The door was open a little," I said, "and the sound of beautiful music drew me in. Play something else."

Olivia's smile grew only a little bit wider, and she turned back around to face the piano. I watched as she flipped the page on the book that sat above the keys, and she begun playing again. The song was similar to the other piece, but also different—both were classical, and she had to play two different things wit both of her hands, which I thought must have been incredibly complicated. Olivia, however, played without fault.

Her shoulders moved with her fingers, and she looked totally absorbed in the music. Looking around the room, I wondered how many of the instruments she knew how to play.

When she finished the second song, I lifted my hands to clap again, and I jumped when another person clapped behind me. Both Olivia and I turned to look at the newcomer, and she grinned, "Mom!"

I blinked, watching as the Queen moved further into the room. I dropped into a curtsey, as Naomi had told us to do if we every found ourselves in a room with either her or her husband. She shook her head art me, "No need for that. Stand up."

I stood up straight as Olivia lifted her legs onto the other side of the bench so her whole body faced us. For the time being though, my eyes were glued on the Queen. Her hair was long and black, just like both of her children's, and her eyes were green like Roman's, but far different from Olivia's blue ones. The Queen was beautiful, and her presence made me feel small.

"How'd I do?" Olivia asked, looking at her mom.

"Wonderfully." She said, smiling. She turned and looked at me, "Who's your friend?"

"Noah," Olivia replied, swinging her feet under the bench. "She's cool."

I laughed, thinking about how I'd have to include the fact that the princess told the queen was cool in my letter to my mother.

Queen Rhea turned and smiled at me, "It's nice to meet you, Noah. Your one of the girls in my sons selection? From the east coast, aren't you?"

I was taken aback by the fact that she knew where I was from—even if it was just the general area. I swallowed, "Yes, your majesty. Allens."

"Allens." She repeated, "really?"

"Yes," I said, smiling, "actually, you went to school with my mother when you were both very young. She brags about it all the time."

The queen smiled, "Did I really? Well, small world."

"It is that." I said, laughing.

My eyes drifted up towards the crown that sat on top of Queen Rhea's head, covered in jewels and diamonds that glittered in the light that shone in from the windows. Neither Olivia or Roman wore their crowns as often as I'd noticed the king and queen did—the only time I'd ever seen Roman and Olivia wearing them had been on the _Capitol Report._ The king and queen seemed to be wearing them all the time.

I wondered if wearing a crown full time was a condition of becoming queen. I knew that if it was, then I was an obvious bad choice for the job. I dropped things out of my own hands all of the time, there was no way I'd be able to balance a tiara on my head while I walked and went about my day.

Olivia looked up at me and whispered, "You're staring."

I blinked, jumping back from the sudden daydream. I swallowed, "Oh, sorry."

"Don't be," Olivia said, waving my words off as though they were meaningless, "she get's it all the time."

I laughed, "I'm sure."

Queen Rhea moved forwards and roped her arm around her daughter's shoulders. After a second or two, I got the feeling I was intruding, and I excused myself, practically flying out the door and back into the hall.

I was only a few steps away when Olivia's music picked up again, and I heard the piano keys all the way until I rounded the corner towards the west wing. A little part of me was jealous that Olivia had the privilege of playing such an instrument, but it was a feeling that was easy to ignore. There were lots of things in Olivia's life that mine didn't entail that were easy to envy.

Back in my room, my maids weren't there. I considered calling for them with the button we'd been given, if only for some company, but I decided not to in the end. They were probably working on something and didn't need a distraction.

Instead, I sat myself down at the makeup table and pulled out the letter for my mother that I'd only just stared. I wrote about how she should flip through the magazines at one of the book stores to see the photos of me at the fountain, and then about Olivia Séear. It felt a little weird to be writing to my mom about my life—she was my best friend, and usually we'd sit in the living room and I'd tell her all about it.

It felt incredibly impersonal not to be able to see her when she read my words, but that was life. There wasn't a phone that we had access to, though all I really wanted to do was phone her. It still wouldn't be seeing her, but at least I'd hear her voice.

I finished off the letter and stepped out into the hall, catching one of the maids from the next-door room just as she was leaving. I asked her to drop it off at the postal office—because, of course, the palace had one of its own—and she happily obliged.

I was about to turn back into my room when I heard one of the other doors open in the hall, and a giggle sounded. It wasn't the type of giggle that someone did when they were laughing, though, it was the kind of giggle that came out when someone was flirting.

Not two seconds later, Roman stepped out of the doorway, doing up the buttons of his shirt while he walked. I squinted at him, waiting until he looked up and saw me standing just a few feet away. When he looked up, he stopped walking and grinned.

"Noah," He said, finishing off the last of the buttons on his top. "This is kind of awkward."

"No, not awkward." I said, shaking my head. "I'd have said funny or enlightening."

"Enlightening?" He repeated, "How so?"

"Oh, I can't tell you," I shook my head. I'd known he was the kind of guy to make out with girls in dark hallways, but coming out of a girls' room half-clothed was not a good thing, either. "I feel like you'd have me hanged if I called you the things I'm thinking."

He snorted, starting to walk again. He was heading outside through the doors next to my room, but just as the guards pushed the doors open for him, he turned back to me and winked, "You can think as highly or as lowly of me as you'd like, Sweetheart. Just remember that I don't care what people think."

The doors closed behind him, and I moved back into my room. His words felt like knives that he'd thrown out to try and protect himself. Despite what he'd said, I did think that Roman cared what people thought about him. I didn't think he's go out and cry over one persons opinion, but I knew there was some part of him that felt bad when people talked ill of him. He could put on a brave face now, but last night his shields had dropped for a minute or two and I'd seen him as himself, and I knew.

Roman might have been arrogant, rude and a hundred other things, but there was only one side of him that I was looking forward to meeting. It was the side of him that laughed so hard his eyes crinkled and that didn't try so hard to be bad. I'd only seen if once so far, but that was enough to know it was there.


End file.
